


Locked Out

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Locked Out [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Meet Cute AU, NHL!Jack, Samwell!Bitty, Vulgar Language, but so much fluff, discussion of coming out, some discussion of anxiety, some discussion of internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Eric locks Lardo's keys in her car -- in Providence -- while Lardo is off in New York. NHL player Jack comes to the rescue.





	1. Parts 1-5

**Author's Note:**

> _I totally did not write this because I locked myself out of my friend’s car._
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> _I started serializing this on[Tumblr](https://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com/post/176467474430/locked-out), but it got way long. My plan is to continue posting brief updates there, then uploading them to AO3 in groups of five or so chapters._

**1**

“Dang!”

Eric tried the door of Lardo’s 12-year-old Honda.

It didn’t open.

“Shit!” he said, and pulled up on the door handle again.

The door didn’t budge, and Eric felt like the car was mocking him.

It looked just fine, sitting prettily in the parking spot where Eric had had left it two hours earlier. But instead of providing Eric transportation back up to Samwell, instead of being the answer to a prayer it had been this morning, it was totally useless. Worse than useless. It was a huge problem. Eric couldn’t afford to leave Lardo’s car in the commuter lot in Providence overnight.

“Fuck!” he finally said, and sank to the curb, head in his hands.

“Euh … are you okay?”

The voice came from somewhere above Eric’s head. Way above Eric’s head. Eric lifted his face enough to see neon yellow sneakers, attached to rock-hard calves with a sprinkling of dark, coarse hair, unremarkable knees, and lordy, those thighs … Eric had heard people say someone had thighs like tree trunks before, but he always thought they were exaggerating. Well, not if they were talking about this guy.

Who was standing there while Eric had a breakdown in the middle of a parking lot because he’d locked Lardo’s keys in the trunk of her car, the very same day Eric had used said car to drop Lardo off at the train station to go to New York.

Lardo wouldn’t be back for three days. She had a series of art school interviews planned, and had been so nervous before she left that she could barely talk to Eric. There was no way he could bother her. But he didn’t know where she kept a second set of keys -– or if a second set even existed.

Eric dropped his face into his hands again. “‘M fine,” he said. Because, really, he was. He didn’t need rescuing from some Hercules who was taking a run around Providence at 1 p.m. on a Wednesday in May. Even if he had the most impressive thighs Eric had ever seen.

“You seem pretty upset,” the voice came again. “What happened?”

Now Eric’s head snapped up –- all the way up, skipping over the territory between the runner’s thighs and face (although he had an impression of blue running shorts covering solid hips, to go with a trim waist and impossibly broad shoulders) to meet the bluest blue eyes he had ever seen. Eyes which were witnessing his humiliation, despite the expression of concern on the man’s face.

He heaved a sigh, because he would rather not expose his own stupidity to someone who looked like that. But, he supposed, it really didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like this guy would give someone like him a second look anyway.

“If you must know, I locked the keys to the car in the trunk,” Eric said. “It’s not even my car. It’s my friend’s, and she’s out of town until the weekend, and I don’t know if there are extra keys anywhere, but I couldn’t get them even if I did.”

“Can you call her?” the man asked.

“Phone’s in my messenger bag with the keys,” Eric said. “It was such a good day, too. I came down for an interview for an internship, and I thought I had a really good chance, and I was so happy –- until I closed the trunk and realized the doors were still locked.”

“Do you know your friend’s number?” the man asked. “You could use my phone.”

“Nah,” Eric said. “I mean, I do know her number, but she’s in interviews all day in New York. I can’t distract her.”

“Long-distance relationships are tough,” said the guy, ducking his head. Something about him was familiar.

“No, it’s not like that,” Eric said. “I mean, we go to school together in Massachusetts, and I’ll miss her when she starts grad school somewhere else in the fall because she’s one of my best friends, but not like that.”

“Locksmith?” the man suggested.

“Don’t they charge like $50 just to open the door? I haven’t got that much on me,” Eric said. “But I could put it on my emergency credit card if I have to, I guess.”

“I think motor clubs do lockouts,” said the runner, who Eric was starting to think of as his personal giant.

“Not my car,” Eric said. “If I don’t have a car, why would I have a motor club membership?”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” the man said. “How about I call for you?”

“But it’s not your car,” Eric said.

“I can reimburse them for the service,” the man said.

“But that’s not fair,” Eric said.

Then he had an idea.

“I could make you a pie to pay you back,” he said.

“We can work that out later. Let’s just solve your problem first.”

The man pulled out his phone and half-turned away from Eric while he placed a call. But Eric heard him clearly enough when he said, “This is Jack Zimmermann. I need someone to …”

Shit. That’s why he looked familiar. Jack Zimmermann, first-line center for the Providence Falconers. He was handsome enough on TV; this version was better, with the worried furrow in his brow and the shy way he smiled when Eric suggested pie.

The man -- Jack Zimmermann -- put the phone back in his pocket and said, “Somebody should be here in a half-hour or so. I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Um, Eric,” Eric said. “Eric Bittle. I meant it about that pie, if you tell me where to send it.”

“I was hoping maybe you’d bring it,” Jack said. “Or we could meet somewhere? If you don’t want to come to my place. But you’re welcome. To come to my place, I mean. I wasn’t fishing for a thank you.”

“Maybe not, but I owe you thanks,” Eric said. “Along with the pie. And, um, I know who you are? So I’m okay going to yours. If you don’t mind.”

**2**

Eric ran a hand through his hair, hoping it would end up artfully tousled instead of just messy. He pasted a broad smile on his face, hefted the stacked pie containers a bit higher and pushed his way through the revolving door.

The lobby was … nice. But not over the top opulent. Then again, Eric didn’t really know what he expected. He’d never visited a professional athlete in his condo before.

There was a man behind a desk looking at Eric expectantly.

“Um, I’m here to see Jack Zimmermann?” Eric said.

“Your name?”

“Eric Bittle.”

The man picked up a phone, but before he dialed, he asked, “Is he expecting you, Mr. Bittle?”

“Yessir.”

The man nodded, then spoke into the phone. “Eric Bittle to see you, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Pause.

“I’ll send him up.”

He hung the phone up and turned to Eric. “Through that door, take the elevator to 16 and make a right.”

“Thank you,” Eric said. He wished he’d brought a little something for the doorman. How had he not considered that there would be a doorman?

He juggled the the pie containers carefully and pressed the button for Jack’s floor.

Oh, God. The elevator was rising. This was happening. He had locked Lardo’s keys in her car and thrown a minor hissy fit in the parking lot, and Jack Zimmerman -- Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Providence Falconers -- had wandered by, and offered to help.

They’d stood there waiting for the motor club truck to come. Jack Zimmermann -- Eric couldn’t help thinking of him with both names -- stopped talking once Eric said he recognized him, and Eric wanted to kick himself. But not really, because it was Jack Zimmermann!

Besides, Eric could talk enough for both of them. Especially since he was nervous. He knew he tended to babble.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner,” Eric said. “I mean, I’ve seen you play enough. On TV, I mean. But the boys tend to be more Falconers fans that Bruins fans, because, well, Bruins.”

The right corner of Jack Zimmermann’s mouth curled up at that, but he didn’t say anything.

“I never really watched much hockey on TV until I got to Samwell,” Bitty continued. “I mean, I played, of course, but it wasn’t on television much, and when it was, Coach was usually watching football or baseball or something.”

He paused for breath.

“You go to Samwell?” Jack asked. “My mother went there.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, glad to have an avenue that Jack seemed to want to pursue. “It’s really pretty. Have you ever visited?”

Jack shook his head. “Not that I remember,” he said. “I mean, maybe when I was really little? But by the time I was in high school I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to college, so I never really looked anywhere.”

They fell silent again. Eric was casting around for something else to say about Samwell -- he didn’t want to lead with the whole one-in-four thing -- when Jack spoke again.

“Wait, you played hockey?” He looked a little too frankly at Eric.

“Not played, play,” Eric said. “I’m at Samwell on a hockey scholarship.”

“Wait -- Samwell’s D-1, isn’t it?” Jack said, looking at Eric again. “You must be good.”

“To play when I’m so small?” Eric said, because he got it. He really did. “I am fast,” he said, because he was. “And I’ve gotten better since I’ve been there.”

“You should improve every season if you can,” Jack said.

Eric nodded, because, of course. He might have thought “if you can” was a key part of that sentence, but he wasn’t going to argue.

“Well, I had lots of room for improvement,” Eric said instead. “It was a huge difference, playing in a Georgia rec league to playing in the NCAA.”

“You went from a rec league to Samwell?” Jack said. “That’s unheard of.”

“And yet I did,” Eric said, not sure whether he was proud of impressing Jack or annoyed at Jack’s surprise. He decided to go with proud, because Jack was a truly beautiful man who was standing right here, and he was solving Eric’s problem with Lardo’s car.

So he smiled at Jack, gave a shrug, and said, “I’m honestly not sure what the coaches saw in me, but I’m glad they did.”

Then a small truck with the motor club logo pulled up.

“Hi,” Jack said. “My friend, Eric, here locked his keys in the trunk. Can you get them out?”

“Should be able to, Mr. Zimmermann,” said the guy, whose shirt said his name was Ernesto. “Calls usually have to be for members, but the dispatcher said this would be covered. This car?”

Eric watched as the man wedged a plastic balloon in the doorframe. He inflated it enough to push the door just a fraction of an inch away from the car. Then he used a plastic wedge to create a small gap in the top of the window. He threaded a thick wire through that and tried to press the power lock button on the armrest on the inside of the door. The end of the wire slid off the button ineffectually.

“Dammit,” Ernesto said.

He tried again.

The same thing happened.

“You say the keys are in the trunk?” he said.

Eric nodded. “In my bag.”

“Let’s try this,” Ernesto said, pulling out a longer wire with a hook on the end. He worked it through the gap in the top of the window, down to the floor of the car, where he managed to use the hook to pull up the trunk latch. The trunk immediately popped open, and Eric dove for the opening to pull out his bag.

“Thank you so much,” Eric said.

Jack was shaking Ernesto’s hand. “I’m sorry I don’t have any cash,” he said. “I told them to add a tip to the bill.”

“That’s alright,” the motor club man said. “Can you sign this for me?”

Eric thought he was asking for an autograph at first, until he saw it was the receipt. Jack must have thought the same thing, because he said, “If you want me to sign something else --”

“Would you?” the man said. “My niece is really a fan.”

“Really?” Jack said. “You have a card or anything?”

Once Ernesto left, Eric looked at Jack. “I have Lardo’s car until Friday, if you want me to bring you that pie. Tomorrow afternoon, if you want.”

“I can do that,” Jack said. “What’s your phone number? I can text you my address.”

“Here,” Eric said, handing Jack his phone with a contact window open. “Just add your number there and text yourself. What’s your favorite pie?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Apple?”

“Apple it is,” Eric said.

Now he was standing in Jack Zimmermann’s elevator with two pies -- an apple, with a touch of maple, because Jack Zimmermann was Canadian, and a peach, because Jack had commented on Eric being from Georgia when he texted. Only to say, _You’re the first hockey player from Georgia I’ve met,_ but still. If this was a chance to develop a friendship with an NHL player (an NHL star, even), Eric would do his best to be memorable.

Eric knew that his interest in Jack was not only platonic, but he was going to ignore that. Jack was almost definitely straight, but he was kind (he had to be, to stop and help Eric, and to be so nice to Ernesto) and he was amazing at hockey and, yes, he was incredibly attractive. Eric knew that most likely, he would drop off the pies and never see Jack Zimmermann in person again, unless he went to a game Jack was playing in.

But Jack seemed interested in Eric, too. He’d asked questions about Eric, and given him his address and phone number. He could have just had Eric leave the pies with the doorman. Instead, he asked Eric to come up.

The elevator doors opened, and Eric stepped into the corridor and turned to his right. Jack (Jack Zimmermann) was already waiting outside his door, wearing a dark blue polo shirt that emphasized the size of his arms, track pants and white athletic socks.

“You really brought pie,” Jack said.

“Two pies,” Eric said. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

**3**

“I’ve never been thanked with pie before,” Jack said, reaching to take the containers out of Eric’s arms before he stepped back to allow Eric to enter his condo.

“You never knew me before,” Eric said, following Jack through the entry and past a large living room area to the kitchen.

Jack set the pies down on a wide granite (yes, definitely granite) countertop that had very little on it. The countertop stretched between a deep sink and KitchenAid range, with a stainless steel Frigidaire side-by-side model on the adjacent wall. A granite-topped island divided the kitchen from the living room, with stools on the living room side turning it into breakfast bar.

“So, um, I found some video of your team,” Jack said, turning away from the still-covered pies.

“You did?” Eric said, stepping further into the kitchen. Maybe Jack expected him to do the honors, since he made the pies? “Umm, which pie do you want? There’s apple and peach. Either will be better if I heat it in the oven. Microwaving it ruins the texture of the crust.”

“Oh, you want pie now?” Jack said. “I don’t usually eat this time of day, but I guess I could … apple, I think.”

“I could cut you small slices of both,” Eric said, stepping to the oven. Given the state of the kitchen, he wasn’t entirely sure Jack knew how to turn it on. Which wasn’t fair; Jack probably baked fish or boneless, skinless (flavorless) chicken breasts from time to time. Wait -- this was a gas range with an electric oven. Jack definitely did not appreciate this.

“Once the oven preheats, it’ll be about 10 minutes,” Eric said. “I’d suggest adding ice cream, but …”

“I don’t have any,” Jack said. “I don’t usually eat dessert. Do you really have to heat up the pie?”

“It’s not absolutely necessary,” Eric said. “But if you don’t eat pie often, then when you do, it should be the best it can be, right?”

Jack nodded his agreement with that sentiment.

“It really does taste better warm,” Eric said, carefully cutting small slices, about half of what he would normally serve, from each pie. “Do you have a ceramic plate, something that can go in the oven for a bit? And a pie server? Or a spatula?”

Jack reached into a cupboard where there were white stoneware plates. “There might be something in that drawer,” he told Eric, pointing.

Eric found a yellow triangular server, something that probably came with a pizza delivery or maybe a cake. Jack had set two plates on the counter.

“We can probably put both on one plate,” Eric said. “The slices are small.”

“Aren’t you going to have some, too?” Jack asked.

“I made the pies for you,” Eric said. “But I’ll join you, if you like.”

“There’s no way I can eat this much by myself,” Jack said, and Eric’s heart broke a little. Surely Jack had friends he could share the pies with? Eric rarely got more than a slice -- if that -- of any pie he made and allowed his Haus-mates to eat.

“That’s why I was asking about heating them,” Jack continued. “There’s a table at the team facility where people leave food to share.”

So apparently NHL team facilities weren’t that different from other workplaces.

“Every office I’ve worked in has something like that,” Eric said, cutting two more half-sized slices and plating them. “Or you can freeze them to eat later, or serve when you have people over.”

“A lot of guys already left for the summer,” Jack said.

“You stay here?” Eric asked.

“For most of the summer,” Jack said. “I keep my sponsorships and stuff based here -- it’s close to Boston and not too far from New York -- and I do a lot of charity stuff. I do try to visit my folks for a couple of weeks, but I can get back in between.”

“Where do they live?”

“Montreal, mostly, but they have a cabin in Nova Scotia, too,” Jack said.

“Sounds nice,” Eric said.

“It is,” Jack said. “You said you might be working in Providence this summer? Do you usually go back to Georgia?”

The oven beeped that it was ready, so Eric slid the plates in. “Those will be hot when they come out,” he said.

Jack pulled a potholder from a drawer behind him.

“Anyway, yes, if I get this internship, it will be the first time I haven’t gone home for the summer,” Eric said. “My mother’s not real happy with the idea, to be honest.”

“How do you feel about it?” Jack asked. “Do you think you’ll be homesick?”

Eric shrugged.

“Maybe a little?” he said. “I’ll miss Mama, of course, and MooMaw, and even Coach, but I just don’t … fit in in Madison.”

“You’ll miss your old hockey coach?” Jack asked.

Eric laughed.

“While my hockey coach was great, no,” Eric said. “Coach is my dad. He’s the local high school football coach, and everyone calls him that. I wasn’t all that close to my hockey coaches, not like my figure skating coach when I was a kid. Katya was a force to be reckoned with. But I always called her Katya.”

“That explains some things,” Jack said.

“Like what?” Eric said.

“LIke how you played rec league hockey and still made an NCAA division I team,” Jack said. “And how you skate fast enough for that to make sense. I said I watched some of your games, and you don’t look like someone who was new to high-level athletics or the commitment it takes. Your checking game could use some improvement, though.”

“No kidding,” Eric deadpanned. “Do you want me to make coffee or something?”

“I only have caffeine in the morning,” Jack said. “But I have a single-cup drip filter if you want some. I was going to have milk.”

“Milk is good,” Eric said.

Jack got out two glasses and a carton of low-fat milk.

“So I’m guessing you were a pretty good figure skater?”

“I was the 2010 Southern Regional Junior champion,” Eric said.

“Why’d you switch?”

The oven beeped again, and Eric picked up the potholder and turned to get the pie out.

“The short version is we moved and we were too far from my coach to make it realistic to practice every day,” Eric said. “I really couldn’t improve -- or even maintain my level -- without that.”

“But if you were that good, couldn’t you have moved away from your parents to get the coaching you needed?” Jack said. “I left home at 16 for hockey. Or did you not want to?”

Eric put the two plates on the island and said, “That would be the long version.”

“I’ve got time,” Jack said. “If you want to tell me.”

Eric looked around at Jack’s condo, he wasn’t sure for what. A sign, maybe. He was pretty sure it would be safe to say he was gay. NHL players didn’t go around beating up random gay college boys they met through automotive misfortunes. But he liked Jack, and Jack seemed to be taking an interest in him, and he didn’t want to cut short what seemed like an incipient friendship with a lonely hockey player by outing himself.

The condo didn’t give him any indication about how Jack would react. It was tastefully decorated in grays and blues, with large black-and-white artsy photos of hockey rinks and memorabilia from Jack’s six years as a Falconer. Yes, Eric had Googled him last night, just to have an idea what he was getting into going to his condo. Yes, he knew there was an overdose when Jack was 18, knew that the hockey world thought the Falcs were taking a chance when they drafted Jack the next year. That taking that gamble had paid off for the Falconers in perennial playoff appearances and one Stanley Cup and absolutely no scandals involving Jack Zimmermann, whose personal life attracted almost no attention.

Well, how much of a friendship could it be if he couldn’t be out? That was why he didn’t want to go back to Georgia, after all.

“We moved, officially, because Coach got a new job,” Eric said. “And that was true. He did get a new job, at a bigger school. But he’d been looking for a new job for two years, because I was having trouble with kids in school who thought I was gay, at least in part because of the figure skating. And I didn’t want to go through that with a whole new group of kids in a new school.

“I could have moved away, like you said, and lived with my coach, but if I stayed with the same coach, I would have been with the same kids who locked me in a storage closet overnight in seventh grade -- without my parents there to support me. And, to be honest, I couldn’t have gone much further with Katya, I don’t think. She was great, but she didn’t have the facilities, the other people I would need to be Olympic-level.”

Jack nodded. He understood how much would go into making that happen.

“And the investment my parents would need to make for me to even have a chance, to get into the pipeline … No one is guaranteed success, and I’d be coming in late, with all the politics. I just decided it was enough.

“So we moved and I started a baking vlog and joined a hockey league. And I turned out to be pretty good at hockey -- except the checking part -- and I found a college where they would work with me on that and help me get better, and where it was okay that I’m gay.”

Eric couldn’t look at Jack immediately after saying that, so he picked up a fork and took a bite of the apple pie. Jack, who hadn’t eaten while Eric was speaking, did the same.

“Holy shit, this is good,” Jack said.

**4**

Eric raised his head quickly to see Jack shovel another forkful of the apple pie into his mouth.

Jack’s eyes were almost closed, but if he was looking at anything, it was his plate, with the rapidly disappearing slice of apple pie on it.

Eric would have sworn Jack had been listening to him as talked, sharing his tale of woe.

No, he wasn’t going to think about it like that. It wasn’t the story of how he had been hounded and bullied and lost figure skating. Or it wasn’t just that. It was also the story of how he had found hockey, and with it a new kind of family and new home. And, maybe most of all, a way to live without being ashamed or afraid.

Or at least not afraid most of the time.

Jack clearly liked the pie. Eric wondered what Jack thought of him.

“Is there maple in this?” Jack asked after he swallowed his second (giant) bite.

“Yes,” Eric said, because that was an easy question to answer. “I replace some of the sugar in the filling with maple syrup and use maple sugar on the crust. I thought maybe you’d like it, because of the Canadian thing.”

“It’s great,” Jack said. “Definitely the best pie I’ve ever had.”

“Well, you said before you didn’t eat much pie, so …” Eric gave a cautious smirk. “But I’m glad you like it. Try the peach.”

Jack took a smaller forkful and put it in his mouth. Eric saw the moment he tasted the ginger in the filling -- his eyes opened wide and he looked he wasn’t going to manage to chew and swallow before he said something.

Fortunately, he did keep his mouth closed until it was empty.

“That’s not just peaches!” was what he said. “There’s like a zing in there.”

“That’s the ginger,” Eric said. “It helps maybe cut the sweetness a little? I mean, the peaches are still plenty sweet, but they’ve got a little pizzazz, too.”

Jack’s eyes were still on Eric when he said, “Yeah, all sweet, but with a little zing.”

Eric really wished he could believe Jack was flirting with him, but he was pretty sure Jack had decided to just avoid the topic of his sexuality. Which was, well, not awful. Jack hadn’t shoved his stool further away or acted uncomfortable at all, so maybe he still wanted to be friends. And if they were going to be friends, why should it matter to him whom Eric wanted to date?

 _Because you want to date him,_ Eric’s mind told him. Eric steadfastly ignored it. If Jack wanted to be friends -- and given what Jack had said about having no one to share the pies with, he maybe needed friends -- Eric could do that. He lived in a frat house with four other ridiculously hot guys.

 _But none of them have eyes like that,_ Eric’s mind argued. _Or thighs like that. Or a backside like that._

“Shush,” Eric said.

“What?” Jack said.

He was eyeing what was left of Eric’s pie.

“Are you going to finish that?” he said, before Eric came up with an answer.

Eric pushed his plate towards Jack.

“Help yourself,” he said. “I can make more.”

Eric busied himself by getting up and taking Jack’s now-empty plate to the sink and rinsing it.

“Are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?” he asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jack said, bringing the other plate over and rinsing it as well. “Just leave them in the sink. Do you have time to watch some of the video I found?”

“I guess,” Eric said. “But our season’s been over for two months, and it’ll be different next year. The two captains – number 4 and number 11? – they both graduated.”

“The top D pairing?” Jack asked. “They’re good, but so was the next pairing. But I was watching you. There’s some things I want to show you -- if you don’t mind.”

It was a generous offer, Eric knew. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear everything wrong with his game, but it would only be polite to listen.

“Sure,” Eric said. “I just have to be back in Boston to pick Lardo up at South Station at 6:40.”

“Great,” Jack said. “Let me get my laptop.”

Jack briefly disappeared down a corridor. He motioned to the couch in the living room when he came back.

“Here,” he said, opening YouTube. “I marked a few to watch.”

If Eric thought he was in for a harsh critique, he was wrong. Jack started by marveling at his speed, and showed Eric a couple of plays where he thought the team made good use of it, either springing Eric to get behind the opposition’s D, or using him as a decoy, drawing the D before passing off to a teammate on the other side.

“What I don’t see is them using you much at all in the defensive zone,” Jack said. “With your speed, if you get the puck, you can make things happen, and they know it. Just having you down there puts pressure on them.”

“I think I said I didn’t know how to check?” Eric said, maybe a touch defensively.

“And when you started to play hockey you didn’t know how to -- I don’t know -- make a wrist shot, either,” Jack said. “It’s a skill like anything else. You don’t have to go try to lay guys out. Just put some body on them. Make them know you’re there.”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I know it’s easy for you, but you don’t know what it’s like to be a guy like me.”

“Like what?” Jack said. “I mean, you’re not _that_ small.”

“Says you,” Eric said. “Were you ever, once in your life, the smallest guy on the ice? Did people pick you up and stuff you in lockers? Have guys tell you they’d –”

Eric stopped. Jack was being nice to him. Jack had not threatened him. Jack was treating him like a hockey player. A fellow hockey player whom he wanted to help.

“Sorry,” he said. “None of that’s your fault.”

Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen to you.”

“I know,” Eric said. “When I got to Samwell, I used to faint whenever anyone hit me. It took weeks for me to finish a practice without collapsing. Then I got hip checked and landed on my head the end of my first season, and I had to start back at square one. The team and the coaches were great about helping me, and I’m really much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jack said. “Maybe I can help? If you end up in Providence this summer?”

**5**

By the time Eric left Jack’s condo, he had sort-of firm plans to join a Stanley Cup champion on the ice for the express purpose of learning to push said Stanley Cup championship around.

Now he just had to deal with the details: Getting that job in Providence, finding a place to live, figuring out a way to make enough money to for this whole thing to work.

Because as much as he loved Mama; as much as she and Coach had supported him through his figure skating career, his decision to quit figure skating, even his insistence on going to college in New England; as much as he knew his parents loved him, they didn’t understand why he didn’t want to come home for the summer.

He’d told them it was easier to find a summer internship up north, told them that doing so would help him figure out what he planned to actually do with his American studies degree, and that was true, as far as it went. Maybe they weren’t buying it because Eric knew that, true or not, those weren’t the reasons he didn’t want to come home.

They’d said he could do what he wanted, but warned that they couldn’t pay for him to stay up north. He’d have to support himself, and save enough to contribute to his school costs for next year.

Well. If he got the internship, he’d figure the rest out.

He left Jack’s place with just enough time to get to South Station ahead of Lardo’s train.

“How was the Beast?” Lardo asked, settling into the passenger seat. “You mind driving back? I’m beat.”

“The car was great,” Eric said. “We have to stop to fill her up on our way – I drove a little more than I planned.”

“No worries,” Lardo said. “You saved my life coming to get me. I truly could not face the shuttle right now. Did you have to make an emergency trip to Whole Foods or something?”

“Not exactly,” Eric said, navigating the ramps to head west out of the city. “Well, yes, I did go to Whole Foods, but only because I had a pie emergency.”

“A pie emergency?” Lardo raised an eyebrow. “Only you, Bits. Did you get halfway into a pie and remember the missing secret ingredient?”

“No, I just wanted to get some things they didn’t have the murder Stop and Shop,” he said.

“New recipe? Is there any left?”

“No, and no,” Eric said. “I just wanted to make something … maybe a little fancier? For … someone I met.”

“For someone you met?” Lardo’s face was all interest now. “A good-looking someone? A boy?”

Eric couldn’t suppress his grin.

“Yeah, he’s good looking,” he said. “He’s a few years older than me, though.”

“So not a student?” Lardo said. “Where’d you meet this good-looking guy, then? Deets, Bits. I need deets.”

“It’s not like that,” Eric said. “I mean, the pies were for someone I met, and he is good looking, but it’s not like you think. They were thank-you pies.”

“Pies? Plural?” Lardo said. “Eric. Bits. Dex only got one pie when he installed the new dryer. What does one have to do for you to rate _pies_?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure there’s no deets?”

“No!” Eric insisted. “It was your car. Don’t worry – she’s fine! I promise! – I just, um, managed to lock the keys in the trunk. In Providence. And I didn’t know if you had an extra set, and even if you did, they would either be in Samwell or in New York with you.”

“Well, I know you got them out because they’re in the ignition,” Lardo said. “And I’m guessing it wasn’t as simple as you calling a locksmith. How did Prince Charming manage it?”

“Not Prince Charming,” Eric said. “Jack Zimmermann.”

“Like, Providence Falconers Jack Zimmermann?” Lardo said. “Explain.”

“Well, I was sitting on the curb cursing myself for a fool, because I couldn’t even call anyone, because my phone was in my bag with the keys,” Eric said. “And he was running by, and saw I was upset, and stopped to ask if he could help. He called his motor club, and they sent someone out, but I think he had to pay for it, since I’m not a member. But he wouldn’t tell me, so I told him I’d make him pie, and I went back to Providence to deliver it.”

“Talk about a brush with celebrity,” Lardo said. “I’m glad he was a nice guy at least. He’s always so … affect-less … on TV.”

“He’s really not like that,” Eric said.

“Because you’re an expert after spending five minutes with him?”

“No, we had to wait for the guy to come and open the trunk,” Eric said. “We talked, and he’s maybe a little shy, but he’s really nice.”

“Right,” Lardo said. “Multimillionaire hockey star Jack Zimmermann is ‘maybe a little shy’?”

“Shit, he is a multimillionaire, isn’t he?” Eric said. “I mean, his place is nice and all, but not like super fancy.”

“His place?”

“I saw it when I dropped off the pies,” Eric said.

“Well, lobbies are usually pretty nondescript,” Lardo said.

“No, I meant his condo,” Eric said. “Great kitchen though. I don’t think it gets near enough use.”

“So you brought the pies right into the kitchen? Did you cut him a slice?”

“I cut both of us slices,” Eric said. “Of both pies. Then we watched tape of our last few games. Lardo, he said he wanted to skate with me over the summer! If I’m in Providence, of course.”

“That’s great, Eric,” Lardo said. “Just promise me one thing: I get to be best bro at the wedding.”

“Hush, you.”

Eric thought he had Lardo convinced there was nothing going on, except maybe Jack needing more friends, by the time they got back to the Haus. He spent the weekend not thinking about Lardo graduating and going to art school in New York, and Ransom and Holster going away and leaving him as captain, and whether he’d find a way to stay up north for the summer.

While he was not thinking, he was studying for his finals and writing his last papers of the year. Which meant he was mostly browsing the internet and saving recipes with notes on how he wanted to tweak them for the vlog. In between, he made lemon bars and snickerdoodles and Saturday dinner and Sunday breakfast.

The call came in while he was in his calculus class on Monday morning. He couldn’t answer in class, but there was a voicemail waiting when he got out. He got the job. He’d be interning in the communications department of a non-profit that supported social entrepreneurship efforts, working four days a week and making almost enough to support himself.

He couldn’t help the grin or the swing in his step as he headed to the Haus, texting Jack as he went,

_I got the job! Do you still want me to skate with you?_


	2. Parts 6-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric moves to Providence

**6**

The few remaining weeks of the school year passed in a blur.

Bitty took the train to Providence the day he finished his finals to sign papers at the Greenhouse. He thought about texting Jack, but he didn’t want to be pushy.

When he told Jack he had the job, Jack had texted back by the time he got back to the Haus, congratulating and confirming he did want Eric to skate with him. Then has asked when Eric would move.

_I start May 22,_ Eric texted. _So I have a week after the seniors graduate to get myself set up and turn up in the office._

James had offered to let Eric start after Memorial Day in case he wanted to go home to Madison in between, but Eric said that if was all the same to him, he’d take the Fourth of July week off.

Then he called home and said, “Guess what, Mama? My boss said I can have off the Fourth of July. The whole week.”

And held his his breath.

He didn’t let it out until she said, “Well, how about that? When we get off the phone I’ll buy you a ticket home, all right?”

“Thanks, Mama,” he said.

“Well, we would have done that if you were coming for the summer, now wouldn’t we? You sure you’re going to be okay up there?”

“I’ll be fine, Mama. Did I tell you I already have a friend in Providence? This guy who stopped to help when I locked Lardo’s keys in her car. His name’s Jack.”

“All right, Dicky,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.”

Seriously, how had it happened that he was spending the summer in a city where the only person he knew outside his workplace was a professional athlete?

The next person, he hoped, would be a roommate. Or two or three roommates. Nursey said he had a cousin at Brown who might be looking to sublet her place for the summer, but when he texted her to see, she had just rented it to someone.

Eric told him not to worry, posted an ad on Craigslist and put the word out on all his social media platforms. Surely someone he knew knew someone who was trying to fill a room in Providence for the summer. It was a college town, after all.

Actually, it turned out, there were a lot of someones. But half of them wanted nearly all the money he would be bringing home just to sleep in a closet-sized bedroom and have use of a skeevy bathroom and a kitchen where no one knew whether the oven worked because they had never tried.

Another group came with messages that just creeped him out, and he crossed them off the list. The rest had something or other wrong – too far from the bus, or just too long of a commute, or limited kitchen access, or a bedroom only accessible by going through someone else’s room – but he’d check them out anyway. At least Nursey’s cousin said he could crash at her place for a week while he looked.

It was toward the end of that week that he finally met up with Jack, not on the Falconer’s practice rink but on the ice at Brown. It wasn’t Jack’s usual time for skating – and yes, he did know Jack’s usual time for skating – so Jack must have taken Bitty’s schedule into account when he made the arrangements.

They were lacing up on the benches, because Jack suggested no pads for the first go-round, when Jack asked how house-hunting was going.

Eric shook his head and sighed.

“Is it house-hunting when all you get is a small, dark room at the back?” he said. “Never mind. It’s fine. I think I found a place. The rent’s right, and it’s not too far from work.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

Eric shrugged. “It’s all right. Older people, though. Not students. And it turns out the lady is possessive of her kitchen.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know what that’s like,” Jack said, standing up and pushing off onto the ice.

Eric joined him and they started skating warm-up laps before Eric said. “I know, but she said she only wants me to use the microwave. Oh, and half a shelf in the fridge.”

They finished the first lap, and Jack said, “Couldn’t you just make them a pie and bribe them to let you use the oven?”

“You forget,” Bitty said, pulling ahead and turning to skate backward in front of Jack. “I would need an oven to do that.”

“Use mine,” Jack said, putting on a burst of speed to get past Eric, who had to turn forward and push to catch up before answering.

“Really? You don’t mind? There would be sugar in your kitchen, Mr. Zimmermann. And butter.”

“They say new experiences are good,” Jack said. “So sure, why not?”

That’s how Eric found himself in Jack’s kitchen on a Sunday in late May. Everything he was bringing to his rented room was in a duffel bag and box in the back of Jack’s truck in the parking garage. He’d brought his box of kitchen supplies upstairs with him, and Jack had busied himself putting it away in cabinets and drawers while Eric made the dough for the crust and cooked down the blueberries for the filling.

Then Jack had watched him roll out the bottom crust and fit it to the pan before pouring the filling in. Now Jack was watching him weave a braided lattice because, yes, he was definitely showing off a little.

“I never knew this was so much work,” Jack said. “I didn’t properly appreciate the pies you brought before.”

“I’m making this one kind of fancy,” Eric said. “Because it’s a bribery pie and all.”

“But all the rest of it, too,” Jack said. “I didn’t know how much went into it.”

“You want to learn how?” Eric asked.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Next week? After we skate?”

**7**

Eric’s first week at work was more of a challenge than he thought it would be.

Sure, he’d been vlogging and Instagramming and tweeting for himself since he could reliably type on a phone. Doing it for the Greenhouse was … well. How was supposed to make James and all the other people understand that social media was supposed to have personality?

It wasn’t that he suddenly felt very young. It was more that he suddenly felt the adults he was sharing office space with were very old.

So he reviewed the content of the accounts that were already active, then decided he really had to show people how to frame a good Insta photo, He sent out tweets that were really just announcements, without any real voice. He organized sessions for the start-ups Greenhouse nurtured, explaining what would make engaging content and researching how to deal with privacy issues.

And he told people, over and over, that Snapchat was used for more than sending people nudes.

On Thursday, his last day for the week, James called him into his office at 4:45.

Eric went, wondering whose toes he had stepped on, or whether he’d have to end the week by grovelling. He really needed this job. Even if it was harder than he thought it would be.

Instead of a lecture, James started with a question.

“How was your first week? It seemed like you really hit the ground running.”

“Um, it was good, I think,” Eric said. “Busy.”

James smiled.

“It seems like most people spend their first week organizing their desks,” he said. “I really admire your enthusiasm.”

“Uh, thanks,” Eric said. “It will be kind of challenging, working with all the different groups here. I have meetings with the leadership of three of them set up for next week so see if I can help them with their social media strategies.”

“See? That’s what I mean,” James said. “I knew you were a go-getter when you came all the way to Providence for an interview.”

“Thank you,” Eric said again, wondering if the conversation was over.

“Anyway, I know we agreed you would generally have Fridays off,” James started.

Eric hoped his expression remained neutral as he thought, “Please, please, please don’t ask me to work tomorrow. I have laundry. And groceries to buy if I’m going to teach Jack to make pie. And we’re skating at four.”

“But some of the staff usually get together for a drink or two on Friday after work, and you’re welcome to join us,” James said. “I didn’t want you to feel left out. I know from your paperwork that you’re of age, so that’s all right. We’ll be down the street at Yesterday’s just after 5, or you could come here and we can go together.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Eric said. “I have plans.”

“You’ve made friends here already?” James asked. “You could invite them to join us.”

“I really can’t,” Eric said. 

Because the last thing he wanted to do was spend more time at work – or worse, doing forced socializing with work people.

“Monday’s Memorial Day, so I’ll see you Tuesday, right?” Eric said.

“Right,” James said. “Enjoy your weekend.”

Eric had two carrier bags of groceries and his hockey bag sitting on the Weavers’ front porch when Jack arrived to pick him up at 3:15 Friday.

He was pretty sure Mrs. Weaver was watching from behind the curtains. She had turned her nose up – literally – at Eric’s hockey bag and decreed it had to stay in the basement, a ruling he couldn’t argue with. She hadn’t turned her nose up at all at the bribery pie; in fact, she allowed that it was very good, and anyone who made a pie like that was unlikely to destroy her kitchen.

So now he was welcome to use it with 48 hours notice and only if she wouldn’t be needing it. And it was nowhere near as nice as Jack’s.

See if Eric made her another pie, as long as he had Jack’s kitchen to fall back on. Although it would have been nice to relax by baking at least a couple of evenings in the past week.

Eric put his things in the truck and climbed in without looking back at the front window.

“So how was the first week?” Jack asked.

“Okay,” Eric said. “My boss thinks I did fine, but it’s always a little nerve-wracking being the new kid, y’know?”

“I guess,” Jack said.

“It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” Eric said. “You’ve been with the Falcs a while.”

Jack shrugged.

“There’s new players every season,” he said. “Always new people to get used to.”

“New people, new place to live, new city,” Eric said.

“I know,” Jack said. “It was harder my first year.”

“And now I have this new friend who expects me to keep up with him on the ice and throw myself at him over and over,” Eric said.

That got a smile, and Eric wondered if Jack thought the mild innuendo was funny.

But instead of chirping back, Jack looked at him, eyes as sad as they always looked, and said, “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Eric felt the tension unwind itself from his neck and shoulders as soon as he skated out, and soon he was taking aim at Jack, remembering to keep his shoulders down and his elbows in as he tried to push Jack off the puck. He didn’t really succeed, but Jack had to slow considerably to fend Eric off and keep control while they skated.

Then, when it was Eric’s turn, Eric took the puck and just skated as fast as he could, because he knew there was no way he could just skate through it when Jack used his body weight against him.

Jack was always careful not to really hit Eric; instead he leaned into him, using his bulk to shift Eric toward the boards. Once Jack had him trapped, it was a simple matter to scoop the puck up and skate away.

But Jack couldn’t trap him if he couldn’t catch him, and there was something exhilarating about being chased by Jack – a pro athlete who was roughly the size of a tree, who skated with skill and determination, who focused those eyes on Eric like he was the only thing in the world. It helped that Eric had absolutely no fear that Jack would hurt him, even accidentally. Eric let himself daydream about having Jack chase him in a more metaphorical way, and about letting Jack catch him in his arms and …

There was Jack’s warm weight, all along his side, pushing him inexorably toward the edge of the rink. Eric dug his blades in and pushed off with another burst of speed, dumping the puck in the net when he skated by and turning to grin at Jack, his arms raised in a celly.

Jack looked nearly as pleased as Eric. “You did it!” Jack said. “You skated through the pressure. That’s great, Eric!”

When they were done, Jack insisted on springing for dinner, bringing takeout chicken tenders (for Jack) and a burger (for Eric) back to his condo. They sat at the breakfast bar and ate while Eric told Jack all about his first week.

“And none of them use Snapchat,” Eric said. “Which, fine, I guess, if you don’t want to reach anyone under 25. But they think people only use it to send nude pictures!”

Jack swallowed and said, “I don’t know. What would you use to send nudes?”

“Jack!”

Jack was smirking at him.

“Stop chirping me,” Eric protested. “If you don’t have Snapchat, what do you have?”

“The Falconers said I had to have something, so I started an Instagram,” Jack said. “But I don’t use it much.”

“Fine. Let’s get this pie going, and you can show me when it’s in the oven,” Eric said.

**8**

Eric never knew just how long a weekend could be until he spent his first weekend in Providence. He and Jack had finished their pie and gone through Jack’s (surprisingly not bad) Instagram by 10 p.m. Jack offered to have Eric spend the night – “I have a guest room, if you’d rather stay.” – but knowing Jack was sleeping across the hall would do nothing to stop Eric’s crush (unless maybe Jack snored. Really loud. No, not even that would do it.) and Eric felt like he shouldn’t stay out all night without letting the Weavers know.

“I should go,” he said. “The last bus is soon.”

“I’ll drive you,” Jack said.

“No, you came to get me and everything,” Eric said. “I’ll be fine.”

“But you don’t want to take your hockey bag on the bus,” Jack said.

“It won’t be crowded, this time of night.”

“I’d feel better driving you.”

“Fine,” Eric said.

Since Jack had dropped him off Friday night, Eric had struggled to fill his time. He couldn’t bake, or even go grocery shopping, because he had no place to store the food. When he complained to Jack about how lost he felt without immediate access to a kitchen, Jack told Eric he could come over any time.

“Even if I’m not here,” Jack said. ”I’ll call and have the doorman let you in. Just take what you make with you, or the team nutritionist will kill me.”

Eric didn’t want to make a pest of himself, though, so he muddled through Saturday without calling Jack. He recorded a short vlog post explaining that there would be fewer baking demonstrations posted this summer. He went for a run, since he had to work to keep his conditioning up without joining a gym. He hung out in the group chat long enough to feel pathetic.

On Sunday morning, Lardo took pity on him.

_Why don’t you come to Boston and stay with me and Shitty tonight?_ she texted. _We’ll pick you up at the station and we can stop at the supermarket on our way to Shitty’s apartment. I want snickerdoodles, whatever else you make._

Eric threw some clothes in a knapsack and looked up the train schedule. Then he started to make a list.

Eric was sort of impressed at the state of the kitchen in Shitty’s house when he arrived. The sink was empty of dirty dishes and the counters were mostly clear. He wasn’t sure whether to credit Lardo’s influence or Shitty’s desire for his favorite strawberry cream pie.

Once Eric had disinfected the countertops and set out his ingredients, he set to work while Lardo and Shitty watched.

“You don’t have to spend all your time baking, brah,” Shitty said. “We can’t have a real kegster, but I expect you to kick back tonight, you understand? Maybe I’ll even mix up a little tub juice – sink juice, as it were.”

“Or you can just get Bits here a beer while he bakes,” Lardo said.

“Thanks, Lardo,” Eric said. “I really did nothing but, well, nothing, yesterday, and I was itching to bake. It kind of _is_ how I relax.”

“Got your back, Bits,” Lardo said, offering a fist bump.

“Must be rough, Bitty-bro,” Shitty said. “Have you been up close and personal with an oven since you moved in?”

“Actually, yes,” Eric said. “I taught Jack how to make an apple pie Friday.”

“Jack … Zimmermann?” Lardo said. “He called you again?”

“We made plans to skate together this summer,” Eric said. “He’s helping me learn to check people. And he said I could bake at his apartment whenever I want.”

“And you came here, brah?”

“Well, I didn’t want him to think … ”

“That you like him?” Lardo said. “I mean like-like him?”

“No,” Eric said. “Not like that. I just didn’t want to be too much, you know?”

“That doesn’t mean you _don’t_ like him,” Lardo said.

“True that,” Shitty said.

Eric shook his head and rolled out the cookie dough.

After a day and a half with Shitty and Lardo, Eric was ready for another week of work. Especially since the week was only three days long. It was also easier since he knew who the people were, and was starting to get an idea of what they needed him to do. The two pies he brought back from Shitty and Lardo’s didn’t hurt, either.

James seemed happy with what he posted on behalf of the Greenhouse itself, and even asked for ideas to illustrate a blog that he was starting. All in all, Eric thought it was going pretty well.

Eric was getting ready to leave Thursday when James stopped at his desk. “How about coming out for a drink tomorrow?” he asked. “Everybody missed you last week.”

“I have plans,” Eric said.

“Again?”

“Standing plans on Fridays,” Eric said. “Practice for hockey.”

“You’re not on a team here, are you?” James asked. “If you’re practicing on your own, surely you can find another time.”

“Not a team, no,” Eric said. “But I met someone who’s kind of been coaching me.”

“Well, try to make some time for us, too,” James said. “We find that that team that plays together works better together.”

“Maybe not on a Friday?” Eric said.

By the time he got home he was fuming. He turned to his file of recipes to try to calm himself, and his eyes caught on the pavlova with blueberry jam. Maybe Jack would like those; they were relatively light and low-fat. But they would have to wait until he could make homemade jam. Maybe the angel food cupcakes with mascarpone frosting. Or the Nutella chocolate tarts.

He was getting ahead of himself. He had to make sure Jack was okay with him baking after they skated.

_Hey, Jack. Can I use your kitchen tomorrow after we skate? I’ll make dinner before I bake :-)_

The response was almost immediate.

_I was counting on it. Don’t worry. I’ll get dinner._

**9**

Friday’s on-ice session fell into what was becoming a familiar pattern: they warmed up by skating laps, then figure eights, first slowly, then faster. Then Eric worked on checking Jack, skating into his side, jostling him and trying to impede his progress. While he never knocked Jack down – honestly, never tried – he was quick enough that he had a fair amount of success stealing the puck and getting away.

Then Jack would check Eric, gently, helping him become accustomed to skating with someone who felt like he was twice his size breathing down his neck. It was different than being checked in a game, where Eric had no assurance that the opposing player wouldn’t try to send him head-first into the boards, or even when Ransom and Holster had engaged in their own version of sensitization therapy when he was a frog.

And this time, he did even better than the week before at not collapsing under Jack’s weight. All it took was a couple of strong strides to get a little separation and he was off.

Jack coached Eric through it all, encouraging him to lean a little harder on Jack, to push his way closer to the puck, and applauding when Eric stopped Jack from riding him into the boards. Eric paused for a drink and looked at Jack, taking a swallow from his own water bottle. He was so different from the robotic player he seemed like in TV interviews, different even from the taciturn man who stopped to help him when he locked Lardo’s keys in her trunk.

“You ever coach before?” Eric asked him. “You’re good at it.”

“No,” Jack said. “But I’ve had a lot of coaches. Good and bad. Maybe when I retire.”

“We’re gonna see you behind an NHL bench?”

Jack shrugged, which Eric was learning meant Jack was unsure or embarrassed.

“Maybe kids?” Jack said. “I think I’d like to coach kids. It’s a game for them, eh? Not a business.”

“Yeah,” Eric said. “I get that. I wouldn’t have needed to learn how to take a check at all if I didn’t need to keep my scholarship. And I know that’s nothing like the pressure on you.”

“Checking’s part of the game, bud,” Jack said. “But it’s amazing that you’re so good if you didn’t start playing until high school – and then in a no-check league.”

“Well, I skated a long time before that,” Eric said.

“That how you got so fast?”

“I guess so,” Eric said. “That and being terrified of getting hit.”

“Still, you’re faster than me,” Jack said.

“I don’t know about that.” Eric said. “One way to find out.”

“You’re on,” Jack said. “Two laps.”

When they finished, Eric a few second before Jack, he fell to the ice, but gasping and laughing this time. Jack dropped down next to him, grinning. “I told you,” he said. “And I promise I didn’t let you win.”

When their time was up, Jack drove Eric straight back to his condo. “I figured I’d call for takeout,” he said. “I saw you had a lot of groceries, so I thought you might want to get started.”

“I do,” Eric said. “You don’t know how much I miss being able to bake whenever I want. I was so relieved when you said I could come over yesterday.”

“Did you want to bake last night when you texted me?”

“Jack, I always want to bake.”

“No, I mean it,” Jack said. “Would you have wanted to come over last night?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you say so? You could have.”

“But I was already coming over today,” Eric said. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“How is baking in my kitchen taking up my time?” Jack said. “It doesn’t even matter if I’m home. The doorman can let you in.”

“But what if you want to have someone over? What if you have, I don’t know, a date, or something?”

Jack just huffed something like a laugh.

When Jack pulled into his parking spot in the underground garage, he hefted the box of groceries Eric had stowed in the back of the truck and led the way to the elevator. Once there, he pressed the button for the lobby instead of his floor.

“Where –”

“I just have to talk to someone.”

When the door opened on the lobby, Jack walked to the desk, still carrying the box.

“You need some help with that, Mr. Zimmermann?” the doorman asked.

“I got it,” Jack said, lifting it a little higher. (Was it Eric’s imagination, or did Jack like to flex his muscles? Probably not just in front of Eric). “Isaac, this is Eric Bittle. He’s a friend of mine, and he might need to be in my condo when I’m not home. He has my permission. Can you make a note of it so all the guys know?”

“Of course,” Isaac said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bittle.”

“You too, Mr. — Isaac,” Eric said, extending a hand.

Isaac shook his hand and smiled. “Isaac Ramirez,” he said. “But you can call me Isaac.”

“You can call me Eric,” Eric said.

On his way out – after making the Nutella tarts and a strawberry-rhubarb pie, plus a batch of peanut butter-oatmeal cookies, and after splitting an order of chicken satay and red and yellow curries, and after laughing through an episode of Drunk History – Jack handed Eric a silver key.

“This opens the door to the condo,” he said. “So the doorman won’t have to come up to let you in. I’m serious about you being able to come over. You don’t even have to call first if you don’t want to.”

Eric made a point of stopping in the lobby before Jack drove him home to leave a couple of tarts and half the cookies.

“Do you give baked goods to everyone when you meet them?” Jack asked.

“Pretty much,” Eric said. “People who don’t know me don’t run the other way yet.”

Saturday was a slog of errands and chores, and Eric thought he deserved a treat after that.

_Can I make you dinner tomorrow? he texted. Not just dessert. Traditional Sunday dinner._

His phone chimed with a response a few minutes later.

_You can use the kitchen any time. I’ll be in and out all day. What time do you want me home for dinner?_

**10**

Eric walked up to the doorman when he got to Jack’s building on Sunday, carrying two grocery bags in each hand.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Eric Bittle. I’m here to cook for Jack Zimmermann.”

The doorman – not Isaac – looked at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. “You’re the cookie guy,” he said. “Harvey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eric said. “He said he would be in and out, but I could come over any time.”

“I think he’s out, but there’s a note saying you can go up anyway,” Harvey said. “I can come with you.”

“That’s okay,” Eric said. “He gave me a key to his door.”

“Then head on up,” Harvey said. “And thanks for the cookies the other day.”

Eric let himself in, connected his phone to the small speaker he brought, and set to making a Sunday dinner that would make Mama proud. There were two chickens to roast, potatoes to mash, baby carrots and green beans and salad. The first thing to do was mix up some dinner rolls and set the dough aside to rise, then get the chess pie started. The chicken would take about an hour and a half, give or take, so it had to go in as soon as the pie came out. The dinner rolls would rise twice and go into the oven as soon as the chicken came out; while they were baking, he would make the gravy and carve the chicken.

He listened to vintage Bey, a playlist of peppy songs that kept him moving as he pivoted from one task to another. Nothing he was making today was very difficult – the chicken would take care of itself in the oven, filling the kitchen with a citrusy aroma from the lemons he’d put in its cavity. The sauteed carrots and steamed green beans would get done while the rest was cooking. And he’d been here more than enough to know where to find dishes to set the table.

Eric had just pulled the chicken from the oven and was putting the dinner rolls in when he heard Jack’s key in the lock.

He looked over his shoulder to greet Jack – maybe chirp him about being so eager for dinner that he was early, though Lord knew the boy could come home whenever he wanted to – and was surprised to see a pretty woman coming through the living area, Jack just behind her. She was in running shorts and a tank top, showing off muscular legs and strong arms. Jack was dressed in what looked like the same outfit he wore when Eric first saw him, neon yellow running shoes and all.

Eric straightened up, suddenly conscious it was perhaps not best to greet strangers while he was bent over the oven.

“You didn’t say you had company, Jack,” the woman said, casting an inquiring eye at Eric. “And he can cook. It smells wonderful in here.”

“Hi,” Jack was ignoring her for a moment in favor of giving Eric an embarrassed smile. “I was hoping to get back before you got here.”

“I promised you a real Sunday dinner,” Eric said. “How quick do you think that comes together? I’ve been here for a couple of hours at least.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I would have come home sooner if I knew.”

“No, it’s fine,” Eric said. “It’s been a while since I got to be alone in a kitchen.”

The woman apparently got tired of waiting to be introduced, so she stepped forward, hand extended.

“Georgia Martin,” she said, “but most people call me George. I’m a friend of Jack’s.”

Eric wiped his hands on the towel he’d tucked in the waistband of his jeans and took her hand.

“Um, Eric Bittle,” he said.

“He’s the one I told you about,” Jack said.

“The one who made the pies?” Georgia said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eric said. “Jack was kind enough to come to my rescue when I locked my friend’s keys in her car, and I wanted to make sure I thanked him properly.”

“Well, you can thank me properly anytime,” George said. “Need any favors? Have any friends who want to play on an NHL team?”

Eric looked at Jack, hoping he would explain, but before he did, George continued.

“Just kidding, sort of,” she said. “I work for the Falconers. I’ve known Jack since I convinced the GM to draft him, and I’ve been hoping to hit the jackpot like that again ever since.”

Eric nodded, looked at Jack again – what had Jack told George about Eric? – and said, “If you’d like to stay for dinner, there’s plenty.” It would mean there wouldn’t be the leftover chicken Eric was counting on leaving with Jack, but that was okay, Eric supposed. Jack hadn’t been counting on it.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean to spring surprise guests on you, I promise. We were running and kind of lost track of time.”

“It’s fine,” Eric was saying, when George looked from Jack to Eric and said, “My God, you two are too domestic. Are you sure you’ve only been together a few weeks? Jack, we do need to talk before the season about how you want to handle being in a relationship. And I certainly don’t want to crash your dinner plans.”

“It’s fine,” Jack was saying this time, but Eric cut him off.

“Wait – you think we’re _dating?”_ he said. “How did you get that idea? Jack, I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause problems for you, especially not with your boss. I promise, Ms. Martin that Jack has never – that we never – I should go. Jack, take the rolls out of the oven when the timer goes off. And you want to wait about 10 more minutes before carving the chickens. But really, I should go, because I don’t want to make any trouble for Jack.”

WIth that, Eric marched through the living room and out the front door, dish towel still dangling from his waistband and Beyonce still playing in the kitchen.

He took the stairs, going down two at a time, and let himself out the side door, heading toward the corner where he could catch a bus that would take him downtown. From there he could catch another bus back to the Weavers.

When he got to the stop, he reached for his phone to check how much longer the bus would be. It wasn’t there. 

“Fuck,” he said.


	3. Parts 11-15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Jack learn to use their words

**11**

Eric took stock of the contents of his pockets. His keys were there, and his wallet. So he could get on the bus and get into the Weavers’ house. He had his laptop in his room; he could message Jack about getting his phone back sometime tomorrow..

So many of his baking supplies and so much of his equipment were in Jack’s kitchen, too. Well, he wouldn’t think about that now. Maybe he and Jack could still be friends. Maybe he could still use Jack’s kitchen. He just had to be more careful.

He probably shouldn’t have said anything to Harvey about having a key. That made it look like they had the kind of relationship where people presented keys to their significant others. As though he was significant … . Maybe he should give the key back.

He’d been looking so forward to being able to go to Jack’s condo when he had free time. He could bake for the office, and for Shitty and Lardo, and make meals for himself and for Jack. He could use the oven (far more reliable than old Betsy, if he was honest) and roll out pie crust on the granite counter. He loved that kitchen.

He loved pulling up a stool at the counter next to Jack, watching Jack take that first bite of whatever Eric made. Jack would chirp him, sure, but he was always so appreciative of Eric’s efforts.

Maybe if he made another pie for Mrs. Weaver he could use the kitchen in her house with fewer restrictions, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Would Jack want to continue the skating sessions? Even though they were alone on the ice, there were other people in the rink who could see them.

Eric shook his head in an attempt to clear the negative thoughts away. Why should anyone care if he and Jack practiced checking? Eric wouldn’t worry about being seen on skating with Shitty, or Ransom or Holster.

No one at the rink would even know he was gay.

Lord, Shitty would shout at him for thinking that way. There was nothing wrong with him, and no reason he shouldn’t take advantage of a friend’s (an NHL player friend’s) offer to help him with hockey.

Eric knew the problem was all his, because he knew he was attracted to Jack, and he felt like everyone else could see it.

“Eric!”

There was Jack, running toward him.

In a rom-com, he would turn and see Jack, and Jack would open his arms, and Eric would run to him, and they would embrace, and Jack would spin him around, and they would kiss and live happily ever after.

But Jack had never done anything to make Eric think he felt that way. He had been nothing but kind to Eric, friendly and generous with his time and his home. Sometimes he seemed lonely, and a little awkward. Sometimes Eric thought he saw Jack looking at him in a way that made him think Jack might like him too. But Jack had never said he was anything but straight.

“Eric!” Jack halted next to him, breathing just a little hard. “Why did you leave?”

“Because, Jack … why did you follow me? Did you bring my phone?”

“Your phone? No. I wanted to know why you left. Was it because of what George said? About us being together? Because I told her we’re not, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “That you had to do that. I didn’t want to give anyone a wrong impression of you, especially someone from your team.”

“The impression that we’re dating?” Jack said.

“Well, yes, but more that you would ever date me in the first place,” Eric said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jack said. “You’re smart and funny and warm and way too attractive for me. And you’re a good hockey player.”

“And I’m a guy,” Eric said. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” Jack said. “But George has known I’m bi for years. I mean, looking at it from her perspective, I can’t blame her for thinking we were going out. Her other guess was that I hired you as a personal chef, but the table was set for two. But I don’t why you ran away. Is the idea of dating me that repulsive? I mean, I kind of thought maybe you liked me?”

“Of course I like you,” Eric said.

“But not like I like you?” Jack said, eyes downcast.

“Jack, look at me. You might be the most handsome man I ever met, and you literally came to my rescue the day we met, and you’ve been so wonderful to me. But I was afraid George saw the hearts in my eyes, I guess, and I thought I was causing trouble for you.”

“Never,” Jack said, the now-familiar grin lighting his features. “Come back inside?”

“Hmmmm. I guess I owe George an apology,” Eric said.

“She left,” Jack said. “But she did say to tell you she’s sorry for assuming about the nature of our relationship.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make her something. Do you know her favorite pie?”

“Can’t say I do,” Jack said, then stopped at the suddenly stricken look on Eric’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“The dinner rolls!” Eric said. “We have to get them out of the oven! Wait – what is the nature of our relationship?”

“Let’s go get the rolls out of the oven, and we can talk about it,” Jack said. “Come on.”

Jack grabbed Eric’s hand and tugged him back toward his building. Eric followed willingly, but Jack never released his hand. Not when they went through the lobby (Harvey didn’t even look up) or when they were in the elevator, or when they walked down the hall to Jack’s unit.

Not until Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out … nothing.

“Oh no,” he said. “I ran out without my key. We have to go get Harvey.”

“No we don’t,” Eric said, digging in his own pocket. “I have a key.”

**12**

Jack stepped back to let Eric insert his key in the lock, and as soon as the door was open, Eric rushed inside, where he could hear Beyonce still singing “Check On It” over the insistent beeping of the oven timer and the bubbling of the potatoes boiling on the stove.

He grabbed for the oven mitts and wrenched open the oven door, afraid of what he’d find, but the tops of the rolls were only a shade too brown. They must have made it back a minute or two after they were scheduled to come out.

Eric set the baking sheet on an empty section of the stovetop so as not to damage the counter.

“Now,” he said, looking at Jack. “You said something about the nature of our relationship. But first we should get this meal on the table. The beans and the carrots are keeping warm on the back of the stove. I have gravy to make and potatoes to mash, and the chicken to carve. Can you give me 15 minutes?”

“Can I help?” Jack asked.

“Um, do you know how to carve a chicken?” 

“Not really, but how hard can it be?”

“Here,” Eric said, picking up his phone and calling up a video. “Watch that first.”

Then he began whisking flour into the fat he’d siphoned off from the chicken juices, keeping it moving constantly, and sneaking glances at Jack. Jack’s focus was entirely on Eric’s phone – Eric wished he could take a picture – as he followed along, and Eric imagined drawing out the steps to carving a chicken on whiteboard.

When the roux was dark enough, he added stock bit by bit, before reaching for the seasonings.

Once the gravy was done, Eric moved the rolls from the baking sheet into a towel-lined bowl (making a note that Jack could use a basket for breads) and checked the potatoes. They were ready to mash, so he carried them to the sink and drained them, returning the potatoes to the hot pot.

Jack had put down Eric’s phone and was contemplating one of the chickens, chef’s knife in his hand.

“It’ll be okay,” Eric said, gathering half-and-half and butter from the refrigerator. “It’s going to taste good however you cut it. I just kind of wanted you to go into it with a plan.”

He cut a generous chunk of butter and put it in the pot with the potatoes, then slide the lid on while he poured a bit of half-and-half into a mug and heated it in the microwave.

“So you do use a microwave,” Jack said, a leg quarter in one hand and the knife in the other.

“Yes, and I use a refrigerator and freezer too,” Eric said. “I have nothing against technology, but you have to understand what it does to your food. I’d never refrigerate a tomato, and I’d never heat a pie crust in the microwave.”

“Whatever you say,” Jack said, turning his attention to separating the drumstick from the thigh.

When the half-and-half was warm, the butter was melted and Eric could start mashing, adding a bit of liquid at a time until the consistency was right. Then he added some salt and white pepper, tasting a spoonful at a time.

Jack was finishing the first chicken, the meat nicely displayed on the platter Eric set out.

“You want to do the next one?” Jack asked.

“Nah, you’re doing great,” Eric said. “I’m going to wrap up this carcass and stick it in your freezer. I can make stock with it later, so I won’t have to buy the stuff in the box.”

Eric had decided before Jack came home that this meal deserved a formal setting, so he’d cleared a handful of magazines and books that had accumulated and set out matching plates and flatware. Jack even had a set of cloth napkins.

As Jack concentrated on carving the second bird – and God was he adorable when he focused on something – Eric ferried the food to the table. There were the two vegetables, the potatoes, the rolls. Gravy in a straight-sided bowl since Jack apparently didn’t own a gravy boat. Salt and pepper. Serving spoons. Glasses of water.

“I don’t think we need all this meat,” Jack said, looking at the platter that was now piled high.

“I know,” Eric said. “I was planning for leftovers.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “That’s good. It would be good for you to have something besides fast food to eat during the week.”

“I thought I could make a couple of things to leave in your freezer and fridge for you to eat this week.”

“Oh,” Jack said again, but didn’t continue. Instead, he brought the platter to table.

“Now,” Eric said. “What is … the nature of our relationship?”

“We’re friends, right?” Jack said.

Eric felt his heart sink as he smiled and took a sip of water.

“Of course we are.”

“But I was hoping that maybe – maybeyouwouldwanttogooutwithme?”

“What was that?” Eric asked. He thought Jack asked him out, but it was hard to tell with the way Jack was mumbling into his plate.

Jack looked up, that focus now all on Eric.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asked.

Eric never thought people were serious when the said something took their breath away. But this – Jack looking at him with those blue eyes, hope and nervousness on his face – Eric had to take a moment to gasp in a breath. When Jack’s face started to turn down, Eric hurried to put his hand over Jack’s and said, “Of course, honey. Didn’t I tell you outside how I was afraid people could see the hearts in my eyes?”

“Are you sure?” Jack said. “I mean, I’m not really out, and I probably can’t be. At least not right away. And if people find out, well, it won’t be easy on you.”

“What do you mean am I sure?” Eric said. “Are you sure? I mean, is taking that chance worth it to you? For someone like me?”

“You’re the only reason it’s worth it,” Jack said. “But yes, it absolutely is.”

“Then yes, I absolutely want to go out with you,” Eric said. “I also want you to eat before the food gets cold.”

**13**

Eric wasn’t entirely sure how he made it through the rest of dinner. He could feel Jack’s feet and knees bumping into his, and he kept looking up at Jack to find Jack looking back at him.

“This is delicious,” Jack said, after every fifth bite or so.

Eric stopped thanking him for the compliment after the third time, because the conversation – or lack thereof – was getting ridiculous. It was like Jack got shyer when Eric said he wanted to go out with him.

Of course, Eric wasn’t doing much better. No matter what part of Jack fell into his field of view, he couldn’t help but imagine that part of Jack after dinner, when they would, he hoped, not be sitting with a table full of food between them. Jack’s eyes, that kept landing on Eric; Jack’s mouth, that Eric could probably (definitely? maybe?) kiss tonight; Jack’s hands, which he would use to touch Eric – when he’d taken Eric’s hand to bring him back inside, Eric had been struck by how Jack’s hand engulfed his.

“I have to admit I’m a little nervous,” Eric said.

Jack immediately put his fork down.

“About going out with me?”

“Not that, really,” Eric said. “More about … the physical side of things? My experience tends more towards the ‘making out with drunk guys at frat parties’ end of the spectrum. And I’m, well, me, and you’re you, and I don’t really understand what it is about me that you want.’”

Somewhere in there Jack started eating again, and Eric added, “Besides my food. Which is important, because if you didn’t like my cooking we’d have a real problem.”

“First,” Jack said after he swallowed, “I can’t imagine anyone not liking your food. Second, we don’t have to do anything unless we both want it. We don’t have to do anything at all, if you don’t want. And, uh, my experience might be more like yours than you think. I don’t really date men – haven’t really dated men – since I came into the league, and I’ve never had a particularly serious relationship with a woman. So that leaves some youthful experimentation – usually when were both drinking – and some hook-ups.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to do anything?” Eric asked.

“Not at all,” Jack said. “I want to do – I want to do so much with you, and I hope you want the same thing. But I’ll still like you if you don’t.”

“Jack, you have no idea how much I want,” Eric said, and felt his blush rise to the roots of his hair. It was worth it to see the color rise in Jack’s face as well. “I’m just … nervous.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “That’s good. Not that you’re nervous, I mean. But we won’t do anything you don’t – we both don’t want.”

Jack ate a few more bites, then said, “I know it’s none of my business, but why not? I mean, why aren’t you dating anyone? Or haven’t you dated anyone? At first, when I met you, I figured you must be. You’re cute, and you’re hot – what? You are!”

Eric had hidden his face by looking down at what remained of his dinner, but when Jack insisted that he was attractive, he looked up. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know he was shamelessly flirting, looking up through his eyelashes.

“See?” Jack said. “Do you even know what you look like? And then you’re kind and smart and generous too.”

Eric couldn’t help but snort a bit at that.

“Can you maybe tell my professors how smart you think I am?” he said. “And you’re the one who’s generous. Who’s paying for all our ice time? And buying dinner almost every week? And letting me come and use the kitchen?”

Jack shrugged.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said. “But what about you, buying groceries and then spending all this time cooking for me?”

“I like to cook,” Eric said. “Really. I do it for fun, and to relax. It would be silly to cook all this and not share it. Even if I didn’t like you. Which I do.”

“Well, since you cooked, let me clean up?” Jack said. “At least put the dishes in the dishwasher?”

“You do that and I’ll do the pots and pans.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You can help.”

Jack stacked their plates and carried them to the kitchen, then came back to help carry the serving pieces in. Eric portioned food into the plastic containers he brought (“I planned for leftovers, remember?”) while Jack scraped the dishes. Jack loaded the dishwasher while Eric made quick work of the remaining pots and pans. He was just filling the roasting pan with soapy water to soak when Jack approached from the side, gently knocking into him.

Eric bumped him back, and Jack moved behind him, pulling Eric back against his chest.

“This okay?” Jack asked, bending to bury his face in Eric’s hair.

“Very,” Eric said, turning off the water and twisting around in Jack’s arms.

He reached up on his toes and pressed his lips to Jack’s jaw.

“How about this?” he said.

“Mmm,” Jack said. “Almost. Can I kiss you? For real?”

Eric responded by wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck and pulling him down.

**14**

**__**_I really should have gone and found myself an NHL player boyfriend with a marvelous kitchen months ago,_ Eric texted Jack.

He’d come straight to Jack’s condo from work on Thursday night, and would be there straight through to Sunday. The Weavers thought he was staying with friends for the weekend – hockey friends, as he’d brought his hockey bag with him.

He was pretty sure Mrs. Weaver was happy to see the malodorous bag heading out the door.

“I don’t know why you had to tell them anything,” Jack pointed out. “You’re an adult renting a room. You have a key to come and go as you please.”

“It’s only polite to let them know if I don’t plan to be there,” Eric said. “And I did give my mother their number, just in case she couldn’t reach me and panicked. Besides, I know people like them. If I just up and stayed away overnight, she’d be poking and prying to find out what was going on. But she doesn’t like sports in general or hockey in particular, so saying I’m off to be with people who play hockey sounds really boring.”

“If you say so,” Jack said.

“How did you get around your parents poking their noses into your business when you were a teenager?” Eric asked, honestly curious. He and most of his friends had perfected the art of telling just enough of the truth to be believable and avoid more questions.

“I never had to,” Jack said. “I moved to a billet house to play hockey when I was 16, and my billet family didn’t much care what I did as long as I didn’t get in real trouble.”

He shrugged.

“Everyone knew the team wanted me playing, so they mostly looked the other way.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” Eric said.

Jack looked mystified by that response.

“That’s no way for a kid to live. My parents might have annoyed me, but I knew they cared if I messed up, and that in itself kept us from taking too many crazy chances,” Eric said.

“My parents cared,” Jack said. “They were just busy with their own lives, and I wasn’t around them much. And by the time I was … things were kind of out of hand.”

Jack had pushed a (huge) hand through his hair and said, “You know about that, right?”

“Only what I read on Wikipedia.”

“Just so you do know, I overdosed on the anti-anxiety meds I was prescribed. I was taking too many pills, and mixing them with alcohol, which I know was really stupid. I skipped the draft that year and went early second round the next year.”

“Like where you went in the draft is the important part of that,” Eric said.

“Seemed like it at the time,” Jack said.

“You still have anxiety?” Eric asked.

Jack nodded. “I’m better at controlling it. I take Lexapro, and I have other meds in case I have a panic attack, and I still see a therapist.”

“You’ll let me know how to help?” Eric said. “And if I’m doing anything – or any of this is making it worse?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

Then Eric had curled into his side, hoping he’d handled that well and hadn’t offended Jack at all. The conversation about parents and the Weavers was forgotten, and Eric figured he’d responded well enough when Jack bent down and kissed him.

Eric slept remarkably well in Jack’s bed that night. It may have been the truly spectacular orgasm (he’d appreciated the way Jack focused 100 percent on whatever he was doing), but it was also just very comfortable.

Waking up together had been pleasant – and pleasurable. After breakfast, Jack had gone off to meet his trainer for conditioning and then to handle some team obligations. He would be back, he said, to pick up Eric for their Friday skate, but Eric had until then to make himself at home in the kitchen.

The chicken stock was simmering and the first batch of protein-rich cookies was in the oven. He had a list of six other recipes to work on, and several dozen comments that he wanted to respond to on his vlog.

First, he texted Jack again.

_Do you mind if I move into your kitchen? Like, permanently?_

Then he thought Jack might take that the wrong way, so he sent another: _I liked your bedroom pretty well too._

He had brought his webcam and set it up, intending to make a post about summer desserts. He was making himself a list of talking points when he heard a knock at the door.

He froze for a moment, like he really was an intruder, then remembered Jack knew he was there.

He pulled out his phone and texted Jack again.

_There’s someone knocking on your door. Upstairs in the hall. Should I answer it?_

As soon as he sent the text off, the knocking was repeated. This time, a man’s voice – deep, with an accent different from Jack’s or Eric’s – accompanied it.

“Jack! Zimmboni! I hear music playing! Answer your door!”

Eric looked to his phone for help, but there was nothing. Jack hadn’t answered his earlier text either, so he was probably away from his phone.

“Not your kind of music, Zimmboni! You having company? I come to pick you up for meetings! Time to go.”

If this person was there to get Jack, he wouldn’t go away quickly. Eric looked around quickly, making sure it only looked like he was cooking. Jack’s bedroom door was closed, hiding Eric’s overnight bag.

“You okay in there, Jack?” the voice said. “You needing me to get somebody?”

He walked to the door, drew himself up to his full height, and pulled it open, declaring, “Jack’s not home.”

He found himself eye-to-chest with Alexei Mashkov.

**15**

“You’re Alexei Mashkov!” Eric blurted.

“Yes,” Alexei agreed, looking confused. He looked past Eric’s shoulder – whether checking for Jack coming up behind him or reading the number on the door Eric wasn’t sure. “Who are you? This is Jack Zimmermann’s apartment, yes?”

“Uh, yes,” Eric said, wishing he wasn’t turning bright red. He did belong here, Jack said so, and Alexei Mashkov (Mr. Mashkov?) didn’t sound hostile or angry, just befuddled at someone he didn’t know opening Jack’s door. “Um, I’m Eric? I’m a friend of Jack’s, and he said I could use his kitchen to cook while he was out today.”

“I was picking him up for a meeting with George,” Alexei Mashkov said, pulling out his phone. “I text him.”

“Do you want to come in, Mr. Mashkov?” Eric asked. “Jack mentioned he had some meetings today, but he said he was going to go right from his conditioning session.”

At that, Alexei grinned, and said, “Tater. That’s what everyone calls me. It does smell delicious in here.”

He stepped in and closed the door behind him, still looking at his phone while Eric went to turn down the music and text Jack himself.

_Alexei Mashkov is here. He said he was supposed to pick you up!_

By the time he was done, Tater was standing at the breakfast bar, eyeing the protein cookies.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“Those are protein cookies,” Eric said. “First time I made them. I even used some of Jack’s protein powder. Want to try one and see what you think?”

Eric picked up a cookie and broke it in two, handing half to Tater and nibbling at the other half himself. It didn’t taste __bad__ , he thought, but it wasn’t much like a cookie. More like a breakfast or snack bar, but round.

Tater didn’t seem to have any qualms. His half was already gone.

“Delicious,” he said. “I can have another?”

“Sure,” Eric said. “Help yourself. There’s some chocolate ones in the oven. But after that, I’m going to make some real desserts.”

Tater was checking his phone, which had apparently vibrated.

“Jack say he just forgot,” Tater said. “Or thought I forgot. We talked last before I went home.”

That had to be some weeks ago, Eric thought. And Jack’s life had been kind of eventful in those weeks.

“You said real desserts?” Tater said. “Like what?”

“At least a couple of pies,” Eric said. “I brought blueberries and peaches. Maybe a strawberry shortcake, if I have time to go to the market. And a couple of different parfaits.”

“Jack won’t eat that many desserts in a month!” Tater said.

“Maybe not,” Eric admitted. “But I’m not cooking for him. I do a vlog – like a series of videos? – on baking, and I don’t have a kitchen I can use in the place I’m living now, so Jack said I could use his.”

“He gets some of the desserts, though?” Tater asked.

“Sure, if he wants them,” Eric said.

“Blueberry pie,” Tater said. “Tell him he should bring blueberry pie to the training facility.”

Eric grinned.

“I’ll tell him,” he said. “I can’t guarantee he’ll listen.”

“You say you can’t cook where you live?”

Now Tater looked concerned. Good lord, Mashkov was nothing like Eric thought based on what he saw on TV.

“Yes,” Eric said. “That’s why it’s so nice I met Jack and he said I could cook here.”

“You come cook at my place, too,” Tater said. “You make jam?”

“Well, yes I do, but I could make it here and give you some,” Eric said.

But the idea seemed to have run away with Tater, who was thrusting his phone at Eric.

“Put your number here and I call you right away so you have my number,” he said. “You call me when you need a place to cook.”

Eric followed the path of least resistance and entered his number in Tater’s contacts.

“Everyone calls me Bitty,” Eric volunteered, as Tater read out “Eric Bittle.”

“Like because you’re small?” Tater said. “People call me Tater because Mashkov, like mashed potatoes.”

“Sort of,” Eric agreed.

“I have to go,” Tater said. “Time for meeting. Nice to meet you, little Bitty.”

Once Tater was gone, Eric texted Jack again.

_OMG he left for your meeting. He wants blueberry pie._

Jack must have been waiting for the meeting to start, because he texted back a few moments later, _What did he do to deserve pie? I had to rescue you from being locked out of your friends’s car_

Eric laughed to himself and responded, _Don’t you know yet that you can’t stop me from baking? There will be more than you can possibly eat. And when Alexei Mashkov asks for something, it’s kind of hard to say no_

There was a longer pause, then Jack’s text popped up.

_You know you don’t have to make him pie if you don’t want to, right? But if you do, that’s OK. Meeting’s starting._

Eric had rolled out and filled his pie crusts, put them in the oven, and mixed the shortcake dough before his phone buzzed again.

_What do you mean, everyone calls you Bitty?_


	4. Parts 16-20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric gets to know the Falcs, and Jack meets Lardo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some vulgar language and discussion of sex in Part 20. Not explicit.

**16**

“What did you mean, everyone calls you Bitty?” Jack asked. “You never told me people called you Bitty.”

They were lacing their skates in the locker room at the rink. Jack had been quiet since he came home to pick Eric up from the lobby of his building for their Friday afternoon ice time.

“You never asked,” Eric said.

Jack was looking at him incredulously, and yeah, that was kind of dumb. How would Jack know to ask about nicknames that Eric hadn’t volunteered?

“Did Tater ask?” Jack said.

“Not exactly,” Eric allowed. “But he gave me his nickname? And when I met you, we weren’t really on a nickname basis. And you never told me your nickname.”

“I don’t have one,” Jack said, standing and grabbing his stick.

“Really? I heard Tater call you Zimmboni when he was knocking on the door,” Eric said, following Jack to the ice.

“He keeps trying to make that happen,” Jack said. “But he’s the only one who uses it.”

Eric skated off in front of Jack. He turned and skated backwards so they could continue their conversation.

“You’re pretty much the only one one who calls me Eric,” he said. “I kind of like it.”

“Really? What do you parents call you?” Jack asked.

Eric made a face.

“Dicky.”

Jack’s mouth twisted, like he was trying not to laugh, and Eric liked him all the more for it.

“Well, that’s Mama. Coach calls me Junior.”

“What do the people at work call you?’ Jack asked.

“I guess they call me Eric too. But somehow it sounds different.”

He turned back around to skate next to Jack, picking up speed and turning their ovals into figure eights. Once they were warmed up, Jack took a puck from the bucket by the benches and set up to have Eric check him.

This time, Eric flew at him without fear, and Jack actually stumbled into the boards, leaving Eric to scoop up the puck and skate away.

Jack let out a whoop and skated full speed after him, only pulling up slightly just before plowing into him, so the effect was more getting hit by a battering ram than a bulldozer.

Eric ended up flat on his back on the ice.

Jack had gotten two strides before he realized Eric wasn’t getting up. He turned back, already apologizing.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry – I got carried away. I was so proud of the way you hit me and –”

Eric sat up, supporting himself on one arm behind his back and rubbing at his chest with the other gloved hand.

“It’s okay, I promise,” he said. “Just, I didn’t expect it, and I think you knocked the wind out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said again. “This is supposed to be fun and help you get good at checking, not hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt,” Eric said, knowing that his voice sounded just a tad irritated and regretting it. But not regretting it enough to apologize.

Jack extended a hand to help pull him up. Eric took it, and said, “I know it’s part of the game, and I know if I start throwing more checks at people, I’ll get hit more, too. If I just concentrate on outskating them, they can’t hit me. But you’re right – if I’m going to be captain, I’ll have to up my game, and this is a weakness. I hate it, but I need to get better. And it’s better you than anyone else.”

Eric skated away with the puck, ready to set up to try again. Jack watched him go, then said, “You never said you were going to be captain.”

“Didn’t come up,” Eric said. “I mean, I know I’m not a hockey god or anything. But the boys do like my pie.”

“How does your team choose captains?” Jack asked. “Do the coaches choose or is there a vote?”

“Players vote.”

“I’m sure they didn’t just vote for you because of your pie,” Jack said, skating into position. “And probably not just for your hockey skills, either, even though I think they’re better than you think. Ready to go again?”

Eric nodded and said, “Don’t go too easy on me.”

“I won’t,” Jack said. “I promise.”

They finished their time with 20 minutes of shooting drills, then stopped at Jack’s favorite takeout place for dinner so Jack could get his chicken tenders.

“I could probably make those healthier,” Eric said.

“Probably,” Jack agreed, settling in to eat at the breakfast bar. “Guilty pleasure. But you cooked all day. My freezer is full of food. You don’t have to make every meal, bud.”

After a moment, he went on.

“You know Tater asked if I was paying you enough to cook for me?”

“What?” Eric said. “I said we were friends and you let me use your kitchen.”

“That’s what I eventually gathered,” Jack said. “I didn’t spill the beans in case you didn’t want me to. But if you don’t mind, there’s a couple of guys on the team I want to tell. Besides George, I mean.”

“You’re sure about that?” Eric asked.

Jack nodded.

“These are guys who know I’m bi already, and I trust them,” he said. “I’m not saying we should tell the world, but maybe you have some friends you could tell, too? Lardo, maybe? It’s just, secret relationships – I don’t have the best history with that.”

“Lardo knows about you anyway,” Eric said slowly. “I mean, that I met you and instantly developed a wild crush on you. Shitty too. I guess I could tell them. But you asked before why I hadn’t dated much. Part of it was I guess I didn’t want to have the whole team all up in my love life. Ransom and Holster – the captains from last season? – they kept trying to set me up with guys, but if those dates had ever gone anywhere, they’d be all over me for deets, y’know? I just think some things should be private.”

“I get that,” Jack said. “And I’m not saying you have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to. But I also don’t want this to be something that isolates you from your friends.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “I’ll tell Lardo and Shitty. How’d you get so wise, anyway?”

“Lots of therapy,” Jack said. “Is there dessert?”

“Of course.”

Eric pulled the parfaits out – he saw no reason to cut into the blueberry pie if Tater wanted Jack to bring it to work – and sat back down.

“And Jack?” he said. “You can call me Bitty. If you want.”

**17**

Jack dropped Eric off at the Weavers’ house at 9 p.m. Sunday. Eric wasn’t ready for his weekend with Jack to end. He knew Jack felt the same, but Eric had insisted on going to back to his place to sleep before showing up to work Monday morning.

“All you have there is a bedroom and use of the bathroom down the hall,” Jack said. “I have a spare room and extra bathroom. You could use those for free.”

“No I couldn’t,” Eric said. “You know as well as I do that if I stayed here I’d stay with you – in your bed. And then how much sleep would either of us get?”

“I don’t know that,” Jack said. “You might sleep in the kitchen.”

Eric pretended to ponder the possibility.

“Well, maybe,” he finally allowed. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Jack asked.

“Jack, sweet pea,” and lord did Eric love what pet names did to Jack’s coloring, “we met a little over a month ago. I think moving in together would be going a little fast.”

Jack had the decency to look abashed, for a moment at least. Until he said, “I’m not asking you to move in permanently. Just for the summer. And you could save more money.”

“As if I couldn’t spend what I saved on rent on baking supplies if I had daily access to your kitchen.”

“As long I’m eating everything you make, I should be paying for the groceries anyway,” Jack said. “And you do have daily access to my kitchen.”

“I really can’t come over every day,” Eric said. “I need to do some conditioning –”

“The building has a gym.”

“– and get some rest,” Eric said. “And Jack, honey, I think this is for real. I really do. But if it is, we have plenty of time, and we don’t have to rush it. And don’t want anyone to think I’m taking advantage of you, or that I’m a gold-digger or an opportunist or anything.”

Jack hadn’t looked happy, but he said, “Okay. If you think it would be moving too fast. Just so you know I don’t think you’d be taking advantage. And you shouldn’t make decisions based on what other people think.”

“Let’s not waste our last couple of hours today,” Eric said, moving over on the sofa to curl into Jack’s side, and that was the last they talked for a while.

Just before Jack pulled up in front of the Weavers’ house, he said, “You said not every day, right?”

“Right.”

“So can I see you Tuesday? I thought maybe I could take you out for dinner. Like a real date,” Jack said “If this is real, I want to do it right.”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “I’ll meet you after work?”

When he got inside, he stopped to say a brief hello to Mrs. Weaver.

“Did you have a good weekend?” she asked.

“Sure did,” Bitty said.

“Well, I hope she’s pretty, whoever she is,” Mrs. Weaver said. “It’s good for you young people to have fun, I suppose.”

“It’s not like that,” Eric said.

“You’re welcome to have visitors, but no overnight guests,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Eric said, and headed for his room.

As soon as the door was closed, he kicked off his shoes and flopped on his bed and texted Lardo.

_You busy? I need to talk to you_

A moment later, his phone buzzed.

“Bits, what’s up? You okay? Haven’t heard much from you lately.”

“‘M fine,” Eric said. “I’ve just been busy.”

“They’re making you work weekends? Bro, are they paying you overtime?”

“Not with work, Lardo. I’m, um, kind of seeing someone.”

“Someone?” Lardo said. “Wait – does this someone wear number 1 and play for the Falconers?”

“Yes?” Eric said, and then he couldn’t help it. He squealed and kicked his legs. “We’re officially dating. Since last weekend.”

“Dude. Deets.”

“I was making him dinner last Sunday to thank him for letting me use his kitchen,” Eric said. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and two kinds of vegetables and homemade dinner rolls – you know the ones that –”

“Not the dinner deets.”

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, he came in with someone from Falconers management while I was cooking, and she got the wrong idea and thought we were dating, and I was mortified! I was so afraid it was going to cause trouble for Jack. So I walked right out with the dinner rolls still in the oven!”

“You didn’t!” Lardo said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Anyway, he came after me and said he wanted to be dating, and I said I wanted that too, so we had dinner,” Eric said. “And then I spent this whole last weekend there.”

“We need to work on your idea of deets, bro,” Lardo said.

“Oh, hush you. I don’t kiss and tell,” Eric said.

“FIne,” Lardo said. “Speaking of telling … how public is this? I mean, I thought he was straight. Is he going to come out?”

“Not now,” Eric said. “I mean, not publicly. He’s already out to some of his team. And he wants to tell a couple of them. And he wanted me to tell you. And maybe Shitty. He said it wasn’t a good idea to keep a relationship secret.”

‘Okay,” Lardo said. “He gets points for that. But you’ve got to be careful, Bits. Don’t go falling head over heels for someone and get your heart broken if he’s just passing the time with you.”

“I know, Lardo,” Eric said. “I’m trying, okay?”

****18** **

Eric maybe dressed a little more carefully for work on Tuesday. His shoes were clean and shiny, his trousers were pressed (Mrs. Weaver didn’t mind lending an ironing board and iron), his shirt was lightly starched. He wore the Samwell-red bow tie, the one that always made him feel confident.

He almost took it off when he remembered that he’d been wearing it the first time he met Jack, when he came to Providence to interview with James. But it must have worked, he decided. He got the job, and his big mistake that day – locking the keys in the car – led directly to meeting Jack. Maybe it was fate.

Fortunately, the outfit wasn’t too far beyond what he usually wore. A couple of people complimented the look – the receptionist, Sarah, gave him a thumbs up, and James made a point of saying that he appreciated having staff members dress so … professionally (pause included).

At the end of the day, Eric went and waited at his usual bus stop. Jack wanted to pick him up, but Eric had argued that his coworkers would likely ask questions if he hopped in a car with a local celebrity.

Eric knew he wasn’t alone in wanting to keep their dinner date private.

“I’d like to take you to the fanciest restaurant in town, some place like Gracie’s or Hemenway’s, but there’s a good chance people would notice us,” Jack said.

In the end, he made reservations – in Eric’s name – at a popular Peruvian place not far from his condo. On a Tuesday night, it was busy but not packed, and although Eric noticed Jack getting some looks (and really, it was no wonder in those jeans that had to be specially tailored for him), no one seemed to know who he was.

The waiter was more than accommodating, answering Eric’s questions about the various dishes and the way they were prepared. Jack went for a steak with no potatoes but double vegetables; Eric had the paella that included all kinds of seafood he never could have gotten in Madison: squid and clams and mussels, along with chicken and chorizo, all mixed into delicately seasoned golden rice.

When the waiter came back to check on their meals, Eric couldn’t help gushing about how the flavors came together. It was the kind of thing he never dreamed of eating when he was growing up. The waiter grinned at his enthusiasm and said, “I’m glad you’re finding it to your taste. I’ll give your compliments to the chef, yes?”

“Oh, please do,” Eric said. “This might be one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

As soon as the waiter walked away, Eric caught the ghost of a frown on Jack’s face, quickly whisked away as soon as Eric’s attention shifted to him.

“Everything all right with your steak, Jack?” he asked. “They didn’t overcook it, did they?”

Jack gave him a little bit of a smile, and said, “No, everything’s great. How was your day at work?”

Eric launched into a story about how James had brought in two of the Greenhouse member companies for a meeting after they had turned down his suggestion to meet with Eric on his own. One of the owners said he was already doing his own social media – which consisted of a Facebook page he last updated in March (“March, Jack! And not even a Twitter account!”) – and the other said he didn’t believe in social media marketing.

“He said his company wants people to build real bonds, and that social media won’t help with that,” Eric said, making his incredulous disbelief clear in his tone of voice. “He doesn’t believe in social media marketing. Doesn’t believe in it – as if his belief had anything to do with it!”

“What does his company do?” Jack asked.

“Sells socks made from sustainably sourced wool,” Eric said. “And no, I don’t know how that helps people develop genuine community.”

He would have made air quotes if his hands didn’t have silverware in them.

Jack huffed a laugh, and said, “Maybe he’s developing community among sheep.”

“Maybe,” Eric said. “What did you do today?”

“The usual,” Jack said. “Conditioning. A meeting with my agent on a few endorsements. I have to go to Boston Thursday for a few face-to-face things.”

“You want me to just hang at the Weavers then?” Eric asked.

“No, I should be home in time for dinner,” Jack said. “You might beat me to the condo, though.”

“Whatever shall I do?” Eric said. “Me and a kitchen. Hmm.”

“You could use the gym, too,” Jack said. “I’m happy to take you out.”

“Maybe,” Eric said. “I was hoping to record another vlog on Friday.”

“Feel free,” Jack said. “But I was hoping you could come with me Saturday. One of the guys is having a barbecue – Sebastian St. Martin? – and I'd like it if you would come.”

“As your date?”

Jack nodded.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you could just come as my friend, but I was hoping to tell them. Tater will be there, too, and Robinson and Snow. And Poots.”

“I’m free,” Eric said. “But please tell me you’re not just going to spring this on them. Call them first and give them a little warning. And if they don’t seem comfortable with it, I can bow out gracefully.”

“They’ll be fine,” Jack said, his jaw set in a line that added “or else” to his statement without using words.

Jack paid the check – why was he glaring at the waiter? – with cash instead of a credit card. The waiter thanked both of them, but turned to give Eric an extra smile. “I hope you come back soon,” he said. “Very soon.”

Eric almost laughed when he felt Jack place a hand at the small of his back to guide him out. It wasn’t demonstrative, as gestures went, but Eric knew exactly what message Jack was trying to convey.

When the reached the sidewalk, Eric turned to Jack and said, “You weren’t seriously jealous of the waiter, were you?”

“I just wanted him to remember his manners,” Jack said.

“He was just being friendly,” Eric said. “I mean, if he was after good-looking guys, he’d have been going after you all night.”

“Nah,” Jack said. “It was all you. Don’t sell yourself short. I can’t fault his taste.”

**19**

Eric started planning the next day for the barbecue. He knew he’d bring an apple pie – the maple apple he’d brought the first time he went to Jack’s was still Jack’s favorite. He liked the ginger peach, but cherries were ripe, and Jack said both Marty (Sebastian St. Martin – Eric was going to be on a nickname basis with him!) and Thirdy (Randall Robinson) had children who surely deserved treats of their own.

He finally settled on two pies – apple and peach – and a dozen cherry hand-pies, plus some sugar cookies for the kids. The only problem was that his cookie cutters were still at the Haus. Taking the train Friday would take almost all day, and cut into his baking time.

It was times like this he really wished he had a car here.

“What’s wrong, bud?” Jack asked when Eric called him that evening to firm up their plans.

“I really wish I had a car here,” Eric said.

“You could borrow mine,” Jack said.

“Hush you. Maybe in a few years,” Eric said.

“We have to know each other a few years before you’ll consider borrowing my car?”

“No, I mean until your car is old enough for me to feel comfortable driving it,” Eric said. “So, you know, if someone opens their door next to it in the grocery parking lot and dings the door, it won’t matter so much. Anyway, you’re taking your car to Boston Thursday, so I couldn’t take it to Samwell.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Jack said. “About the dings. I just have them filled in. Anyway, what do you need to do in Samwell?”

“Get my cookie cutters,” Eric said. “It’s not important. I just wanted to make some cookies for the barbecue – kids usually love decorated cookies – and I have some hockey themed ones at the Haus. I had to order them from Etsy, so I can’t just buy new. But it’s fine. I can get more usual ones around here. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re adding cookies to the baking list for Friday? Isn’t that kind of a lot?”

“Jack, you sweet summer child. I’ve almost single-handedly stocked the Samwell Men’s Hockey bake sales for the last three years. People put those bake sales on their calendars. Two pies, some mini-pies, and a batch or two of cookies? When I’ve got a kitchen to myself all day? How well do you think you know me?”

“Pretty well,” Jack said. “But you do have untold depths.”

“Hush.”

“Can you text me a grocery list, at least? So I can have what you need here when you get here? That way, you won’t have to waste time going to the supermarket.”

“I am gonna want to pick out the fruit myself,” Eric said. “But if you want to pick up the rest – the flour and butter and such – sure, give me a few minutes.”

When Eric arrived at Jack’s condo the next day, he was weighed down with enough bags that he decided to spring for a ride share. He had two kinds of apples, peaches and local cherries to go into the various pies, plus some chicken, onions, peppers, cherry tomatoes and other ingredients for simple kebabs he could put on the grill he’d seen on Jack’s balcony. There were also wooden skewers and simple cookie cutters – a heart and a star and a flower.

He cut the chicken into chunks and set it to marinate, soaked the skewers, and cut the vegetables and set them aside. Then he made dough for the pie crusts and for the sugar cookies, using the replenished supplies of flour, butter and sugar he found in the kitchen. The pie fillings and icing could wait until tomorrow.

It was already 7 p.m., and Eric still hadn’t heard from Jack. He assembled the skewers and lit the grill, then started the rice.

Finally, he texted Jack.

_I was about to put dinner on. Everything ok? Should I go ahead or hold up?_

The reply came a moment later.

_Sorry – something came up and I had to make an extra stop. I should be home in about 15 minutes_

That gave Eric a few minutes before he should start grilling, so he threw together a salad and set the table. Then, when he figured Jack would be home in a few minutes, he put the kebabs on the grill.

He was on the balcony when Jack came in, calling a hello from the front door.

“Out here,” Eric said.

When Jack came through (dress slacks and a button down, not that Eric was cataloguing what he was wearing), Eric said, “I figured I’d try out the grill tonight. There’s a rice pilaf with brown rice on the stove and salad’s on the table. These will be done in about five minutes if you want to change.”

“In a minute,” Jack said. “I have something to show you first.”

“Okay?” Eric said. “Is this a something you can bring out here? Or should we wait for these to be done?”

“I can bring them out here,” Jack said. “Just, it kind of struck me on the way home that you might think I overstepped. So if I did, I apologize. But I really think you’ll like it.”

He left Eric confused while he went to retrieve a paper grocery bag from the kitchen. He brought it outside and thrust it at Eric.

When Eric peered inside, he saw cookie cutters. Hockey cookie cutters. His hockey cookie cutters.

“Jack! How did you get these? They were at the Haus! I didn’t think you even knew where that was!”

“I didn’t,” Jack said. “I, um, I emailed Shitty and Lardo. I figured out their school emails, and I hoped one of them would respond by this afternoon. They did – both of them, actually – and I met Lardo in Boston and she came to the Haus with me and got the cookie cutters. I promise I didn’t go pawing through your kitchen. Anyway, traffic was bad by the time I was taking her back to Boston, so it took longer than I thought.”

“Wow,” Eric said. “Just wow. Thank you! And I’m gonna have words with Lardo for not saying anything to me.”

“She said something about how you’d appreciate the grand romantic gesture,” Jack said. “And we have plans with both of them for Sunday, if that’s okay.”

**20**

Eric wanted to pinch himself Friday afternoon when was changing to take the ice. The only thing better than spending the day baking in Jack’s kitchen was spending the night before with Jack.

He wasn’t a blushing virgin – as he’d told Jack, he had some experience.

But he’d never had anything like this. Quick hand jobs or blow jobs hidden away during parties, or even one-night hookups felt good at the time, but they didn’t compare to having all night in a big, comfortable bed with someone he cared about. Someone who cared about Eric just as much – and was insanely attractive to boot.

They’d spent hours exploring one another, in no real hurry to finish, and they’d had times when they just fell together and didn’t stop until they’d both reached completion.

Despite doing things with Jack that made him blush to think about, Eric felt more at ease than he ever had with someone he was dating – or trying to date.

Their time on the ice was actually fun – something Eric never thought he would say about checking practice. As always, they started with Eric checking Jack, getting comfortable to putting a body on him. This time, Eric was able to actually push Jack off the puck a couple of times.

Then, Jack skated at Eric, jostling and pushing but not hitting with any intent to hurt.

They finished with passing and shooting drills.

“Fuck, you’re fast,” Jack said, after he passed up ice to a streaking Eric, who one-timed it into the net. “I could use someone with your speed on my line.”

Eric felt his face flush with the praise.

After skating, Jack stopped for take-out, but with the baking done, there was nothing to stop them from curling up together on the couch. Eric asked Jack for a rundown on the people who would be at the barbecue.

Marty and his wife, Gabby, were hosting, and their two little girls would be in attendance, along with Randall and Carrie Robinson and their slightly older daughter; Tater, who apparently had been bragging to everyone about being the first to meet Eric; Snowy, the goalie, and his girlfriend, who was a student at Brown; and Patrick Fitzgerald, unfortunately known as Poots, who had just completed his rookie season. He had lived with the St. Martins and would be moving to his own place over the summer, so the barbecue was something of a goodbye party for him.

“Oh my gosh, maybe I should stay home,” Eric said. “You can take all the pies and stuff. I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“A distraction from Poots moving 15 minutes away?” Jack said. “The only ones who are broken up about it are Marty’s kids, because he would babysit sometimes and apparently gives piggyback rides – which means the girls get mad when Marty won’t carry them. Besides, I told everyone you were coming.”

“I could be sick?”

“No, you couldn’t,” Jack said. “I mean, if you really don’t want to go … I can just say something came up. But you have nothing to be nervous about. These are all good guys, and they’re really going to like you.”

“Forgive me if that hasn’t always been my experience with large athletic men.”

“ _I_ like you, and they like me,” Jack said. “At least I think they do.”

“Hush, they’re your friends, of course they like you.”

“What about your team at Samwell?” Jack said. “Plenty of large athletic guys there. And they voted you captain.”

“Large athletic guys who chose to go to Samwell,” Eric said, “which puts its LGBT-friendly reputation right there on the brochure.”

“I think you’re stereotyping a bit,” Jack said. “Not that that particular stereotype doesn’t have some basis in reality. But trust me. They’re good guys. Give them a chance.”

Eric considered. At this point, there would be no way to pass chickening out off as anything else, and Jack knew these people, and they all were expecting him, and, according to Jack, looking forward to meeting him.

“FIne,” Eric finally said with a dramatic sigh. “But only if you give me a piggyback ride into the bedroom.”

On Saturday, he pasted his brave face on for the ride out to Warwick. Jack was quiet, too, but he reached across the center console to hold Eric’s hand. “I promise they’ll like you,” he said. “Although four pies might have been overkill.”

“Sorry,” Eric said. “Too much nervous energy. I had to do something with my hands this morning.”

“And I wasn’t enough of a distraction?” Jack asked. He might have been going for a leer, but only succeeded in looking ridiculous. Eric laughed, and Jack smiled.

When they got there, Eric could hear music from the back of the house. They rang the front bell and waited only a moment before the door was opened by a petite woman about Jack’s age, smiling widely.

“Jack! It’s been ages,” she said. “And you must be Eric. I’m Gabby. I know Jack’s been telling Sebastian all about you. Let me help with that,” and she took the box of minipies and cookies from Jack, who reached over and took two of the pie boxes from Eric’s stack. “You really didn’t have to bring so much. Or, I mean, you didn’t really have to bring anything, of course, but I heard about your pie.”

“He bakes when he’s nervous,” Jack said.

“Thanks a lot,” Eric tried to whisper, but his words were overwhelmed by Gabby.

“Oh, Eric, don’t be nervous! Everyone is so pleased to meet you. I mean, people have been trying to set Jack here up for ages, but it’s like pulling teeth to get him to even meet someone, and then if you did get him in the same room with the person, he wouldn’t have two words to say to them!”

Now it was Jack’s turn to blush.

“Guess I had to meet the right person then, eh?”

They set the boxes down on the counter, and Jack introduced Eric to Carrie Robinson, who was putting together a tray of fruit. Gabby told Jack there was beer, soda and water in the cooler on the patio, or he could make himself a drink at the makeshift bar on the counter.

“I’ll grab a beer,” he said. “The guys are outside?”

“Yeah, watching the girls in the pool,” Gabby said. “Eric, what do we need to do with these?”

It was short work to arrange the cookies and mini-pies on trays. The fruit pies could stay out until after the main meal, but Gabby made room for the lemon meringue and coconut cream in the refrigerator. The St. Martin’s kitchen was even bigger than Jack’s, Eric noticed.

“Now, what can I get you?” Gabby asked. “Beer? WIne? Something stronger?”

He accepted a gin and tonic because it was one of the few drinks that sounded grown-up that he liked, and headed outside to join Jack.

Who was bright red as Marty said, “So are you going to be less of grumpy fucker now that you’re getting your dick wet?”

Eric nearly turned and went back inside, but Tater had seen him.

“Little B!” he said. “So glad you’re here! Jack, introduce your boyfriend!”

“Welcome,” Marty said. “Sorry if you heard anything … untoward. We were just giving Jack a hard time for being such a stick in the mud.”

“Come save me, Eric,” Jack said. “You’ve met Tater –” Tater preened “– and that’s Marty and Thirdy. Poots is in the pool with Isabelle, Sadie and Annie. Snowy’s not here yet.”

“Rachel had a thing first,” Marty volunteered. “He said they’d be here soon. So tell us, Eric, are your hands as good as Jack says?”


	5. Parts 21-25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lardo and Shitty come over, and Jack meets Eric's coworkers. Eric goes home for a visit.

**21**

The next morning, Eric awoke to the sun slanting through Jack’s blinds, Jack’s pillow vacant beside him. He stretched his arms above his head, pointing his toes towards the foot of the bed and took inventory. His head was clear – the last of three gin and tonics had been at about 6 p.m., leaving him only slightly tipsy and with plenty of time to sober up before he went to sleep. His muscles were almost stiff from sleeping so long and so deeply. Usually when he stayed with Jack, they woke up together, either to go running or engage in other physical activities.

They had indulged last night, when Eric had herded Jack to bed as soon as they got back to the condo, and said, “You want me to show you how good my hands are?”

Which sounded ridiculous now, as he replayed it in his mind. He was still feeling the effects of the alcohol then, he supposed, so that could be an excuse. But he probably didn’t need one, because Jack had responded … enthusiastically. And at length.

The rest of the barbecue had been fine, despite the vulgar jokes and constant chirping. Eric thought Jack had been a little worried about that, but after sharing a locker room – and the Haus – with Ransom and Holster and Shitty (good Lord, Shitty! Out to prove you could have a filthy mouth without being misogynistic and heteronormative), Eric had been more than up to the challenge. What he was worried about was feeling a sense of disapproval, or that Jack’s teammates were uncomfortable with him, or with the idea of him and Jack being together. In a way, their teasing was reassuring.

Today Shitty and Lardo were coming down, at Jack’s invitation. It should be more low-key than yesterday, and Eric had no worries about how they would react to his sexuality; Shitty was the first person he’d come out to, and Lardo had known he was gay from the day she met him, and both of them were among his best friends. Maybe he had a few worries about Shitty keeping his clothes on, but Lardo was usually able to contain him.

Eric rolled over to look at his phone. Nine o’clock. He had slept late. No wonder Jack had gotten up without him. He sat up and then shuffled to the bathroom, relieving his bladder and brushing his teeth. Then he pulled on shorts and T-shirt from his duffel before going to the kitchen to make coffee.

Jack was on the couch, headphones on, watching something on his laptop, so Eric detoured in that direction. He leaned over the back of the couch to drop a kiss on the top of Jack’s head, just because he could.

Jack jerked so violently that Eric was nearly rewarded with a bloody nose.

“Ouch!” He stepped back, rubbing at his face.

“Shit, Eric, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “You startled me.”

“No kidding,” Eric said, coming around to sit next to Jack. “My fault. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. What’s got you so absorbed anyway?”

The laptop screen was playing something in black-and-white, something military. Another documentary?

“Nothing, really,” Jack said, closing the screen. “I’ve seen it before. Is your face okay?”

“It’ll be fine, although the situation begs for a joke about how hard-headed you are,” Eric said.

“C’mere,” Jack said, wrapping a hand around the back of Eric’s head to draw him close and fluttering delicate kisses over his nose and cheeks. “Better?”

“Getting there,” Eric said. “I’ll make coffee.”

“I’ll do it,” Jack said.

“Then breakfast,” Eric said.

“I ate,” Jack said.

“Really ate? Not just a protein shake?”

“Bananas, blueberries and yogurt,” Jack said. “And peanut butter on toast.”

“Fine,” Eric said, following Jack into the kitchen. “Then breakfast for me.”

Eric poured some blueberries over yogurt and made his own peanut butter toast. He had just started eating when Jack set a mug, complete with cream and sugar, at his elbow.

“What’s your plan for this morning?” Jack said. “I already went for a run, so whatever you need I can do.”

A run, then breakfast – with the dishes already cleaned up – and a documentary? “How early did you get up?”

“Around 6?” Jack said. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, but you seemed tired, so I didn’t want to wake you. I showered in the guest bathroom so you could rest.”

“Aww, sweetpea, you could have showered in your own bathroom,” Eric said. “But thanks for letting me sleep in. We should have enough time to go to the market – I just need a couple of things.”

Jack remained quiet as Bitty finished his breakfast, rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then dressed in something slightly more presentable.

At the farmers market, Bitty picked up a flat each of strawberries and blueberries for pie and some fresh rosemary and thyme for the turkey breast he planned to cook on the grill.

Jack pretended to be watching his documentary while Bitty prepped the turkey and vegetables and assembled his pies, but Eric caught Jack stealing glances at him whenever Jack thought he wasn’t looking.

One the turkey was on the grill, the strawberry pie was chilling and the blueberry pie was in the oven, Bitty plopped himself next to Jack.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “I’m not getting the feeling you’re mad at me, exactly, but something is bothering you.”

“Not really,” Jack said. “I’m just a little nervous about your friends.”

“Wait – what?” Eric said. Because the idea of Jack (professional athlete, almost definitely multimillionaire, best-butt-in-the-NHL Jack) being nervous about meeting Shitty and Lardo was laughable. Sure, they were both phenomenal people, both had awesome bullshit sensors, but they were among the most accepting people Eric had ever met.

He said as much, and Jack said, “I know. You’ve said as much before. But they’re clearly important to you. What if they don’t like me? Or what if they think I’m not good for you?”

‘Do you think you’re good for me?”

“I try to be,” Jack said.

“I hope you’re not trying too hard, Mister Zimmermann,” Eric said. “I want it to be easy for you. Because it’s easy for me to be with you.”

“Being with you _is_ easy,” Jack said. “I have fun skating with you, and baking with you, and, well, everything else. But I want you – and your friends – to know how important you are to me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” Eric said. “I promise. Look, Lardo went to the Haus with you to get my hockey cookie cutters to surprise me, right? She wouldn’t have done that – especially without warning me – if she didn’t already like you. And if I like you, and Lardo likes you, then Shitty is almost guaranteed to like you.”

“I know, and I know you came to the barbecue yesterday, and you were a good sport about it all,” Jack said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Then don’t worry about them,” Eric said. “I’m gonna get the vegetables ready to put on.”

On his way to the sink, he picked up his phone and texted Lardo and Shitty.

_Be nice. He’s really nervous about meeting you._

Half an hour later, Jack’s phone rang.

“They’re on their way up,” he told Eric, and opened the door.

The next sound Eric heard was Shitty’s voice.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you magnificent specimen of a human being! Shitty Knight, but you knew that. Bring it in, brah!”

Lardo appeared, making her way around a befuddled Jack.

“You have to be careful when you tell Shitty to be nice,” she said.

**22**

Once Shitty released Jack and moved to bear-hug Eric, Lardo raised her fist to bump Jack’s.

“Bro,” she said. “’Sup?”

“I’m good,” Jack said. “You?”

“Good,” she said. “What’re we eating, Bits? And you need any help with anything?”

“Mmmf,” Eric said, still muffled against Shitty’s chest.

“I’ve missed you so much, Bitty brah,” Shitty said, finally loosening his grip. “You are a fucking ray of sunshine, and you illuminate the lives of all you encounter. My life has been dark without you and your marvelous morsels, my man.”

“Missed you too, Shitty,” Eric said. “But I’m sure you and Lardo aren’t living in the dark. Anyway, the turkey is grilling and the vegetables are prepped. I think we’ll be ready in 25 minutes or so. You want a beer or something?”

“Sure thing, Bits.”

“I’ll get it,” Jack said.

Everyone ended up following Eric into the kitchen, so he shooed them right back out.

“If y’all are hoping to eat anytime soon, you’ll get out of my way,” he said. “Get your drinks and go sit.”

But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad they ended up in the living room, just across the breakfast bar.

Jack started by trying to make small talk.

“So, Shitty, Eric says you’re in law school at Harvard?”

“Yeah, brah, I’m totally fucked,” Shitty said.

Eric thought he could see Jack’s eyebrows rise from the back of his head.

Fortunately, Shitty didn’t need any encouragement to continue.

“Place is full of Chads, guys who were born on third base and think they hit triples, y’know what I mean? And they’re just there to learn how to secure their places at the top of the food chain,” Shitty said. “I mean, if I wanted to spend time with people like my family I’d spend time with my actual family. It’s like being with weird facsimiles of them;”

“I take it you and your family don’t get along, then?”

“No way, brah,” Shitty said.

“And yet they’re still paying your way through Harvard,” Lardo pointed out.

“Eric said you’re going to art school in the fall?” Jack pursued. “In New York?”

“That’s the plan,” Lardo said. “I think I should be able to make it work. My family doesn’t get it – if you’re not studying to be a doctor or a lawyer, they think you should be a teacher, or something with a guaranteed regular paycheck. I think they’re thinking I can be an art teacher, honesty. But with their help, and the fellowship I got, I should make it.”

“You know I’ll help as much as I can,” Shitty said. “It’s just that my trust fund –”

“It’s not on you to support me,” Lardo said.

“Eric says you’re a painter, right?” Jack said.

“Painter, sometime sculptor,” Lardo said. “I like to work with found materials.”

“Do you have any paintings done?” Jack said. “I’d like to see some of your work.”

When Eric went outside to get the turkey breast off the grill, Jack was bent over Lardo’s phone flicking through pictures.

Shitty followed him out to the balcony.

“Sooooo,” he said. “You and Jack Zimmermann? How’s it going?”

“It’s going good, Shitty,” Eric said. “He’s really sweet, you know? Well, you do know, because he asked you and Lardo both about getting my cookie cutters.”

“That was a power romance move,” Shitty said. “Shows he knows you. Or at least understands the way to your heart is through an oven.”

“I mean, I know people think he’s like a robot, but he’s really not,” Eric said. “He’s really kind of shy. But we went to a barbecue at Marty’s – Sebastian St. Martin’s? – yesterday, and it was nice to see how much his teammates like him.”

“How’d that go?” Shitty asked. “Athletes can be heteronormative assholes.”

“You mean the ones who don’t play hockey at Samwell?” Eric asked, hoping the sarcasm came through. “Believe me, I know. But it was fine. I mean, they chirped him to hell and back about being in a relationship, but I didn’t get the impression they were put off because the relationship is with a guy, and they really tried to make me feel welcome.”

“Of course they did,” Shitty said. “Who wouldn’t like you?”

Most of Madison County, Eric thought to himself, but he said, “Aww, Shits, I love you, too. Can you get those two to help get the food on the table while I carve this?”

Once they were seated, Eric said, “Jack’s going to Montreal next week to see his folks while I go to Madison for the Fourth of July.”

“Wow,” Shitty said. “I’m trying to envision calling Alicia and Bad Bob Zimmermann Mom and Dad. That could be … a lot, actually.”

“I call them Maman and Papa, actually,” Jack said with a wry grin. “Montreal, and all that. And I gave up trying to fulfill my father’s legacy a while ago. I’ll never be the player he was. I just have to the best player I can be. But no, it’s not always easy.”

“Would you ever want to play in Montreal?” Lardo asked.

“Never say never,” Jack said. “Especially not in this business. But I’m glad I got my start in Providence, and I’ve played here long enough to make a name for myself. I’d be perfectly happy playing my whole career here.”

He looked across the table at Eric. “I think for me, this is home now.”

**23**

Shitty offered to drive Eric back to the Weavers’ house when he and Lardo left Sunday evening, but Jack caught his eye and shook his head.

“No, thanks,” Eric said. “I still have some things to take care of here.”

Shitty looked from Eric to Jack and then back to Eric.

“I bet you do,” Shitty cackled. “Come on, Lardo. Bits, don’t be a stranger. Come visit any time. You, too, Jack.”

Once they were gone, Jack held out his arms to Eric, who snuggled into his embrace.

“I know you have to go soon, but I wanted to get just a little more time alone with you,” Jack murmured into his hair. “Especially since we’re both gone next weekend.”

“And the weekend after,” Eric said. “At least for me. Mama bought my tickets – I’m leaving Saturday, and I won’t be back until the next Sunday.”

“At least we have Friday then,” Jack said. “And I can drive you to the airport Saturday,”

“I’m flying out of Boston,” Eric said.

“That’s fine,” Jack said. “I’ll try to get a flight to Montreal about the same time. We can just go to the airport together.”

“You haven’t bought your ticket yet? Isn’t it expensive to wait ‘til the last minute?”

Jack just looked at him.

“I know, I know,” Eric said. “But you don’t have to spend more money just because.”

“I didn’t want to leave before you,” Jack said. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Fine,” Bitty huffed. Then he lifted his face for a kiss, just so Jack knew he wasn’t really upset.

Work was getting more interesting. He’d helped a couple of clients develop Twitter strategies, so he spent part of each day reviewing their scheduled tweets and adjusting them when he could, trying to find a voice for each organization.

He still had to convince some of the clients that they would benefit from having more than a Facebook page that was updated once a week, or even once a month, but the ones who working with him were starting to see some engagement. He hoped the others would learn from their example.

James was enthusiastic at the response the Greenhouse was getting to its own social media presence. Eric had set up Instagram and Twitter feeds, alternating posts about the work of the Greenhouse – helping local not-for-profits and socially minded small businesses get off the ground and grow – with posts about the good things those organizations did for the community in Providence.

The trick, Eric found, was to be clear without being heavy-handed or sanctimonious. And to attract attention both from people who could use the Greenhouse’s services and those who could provide finding.

When Eric checked in with James on Thursday before he left for the weekend, he was glad to bring good news in the form of quantifiable data.

“Watch Us Grow has had 25 percent more customers at its farmstand days since we updated their accounts,” Eric said. “Last week it sold out of Bibb lettuce, and almost ran out of kale.”

The urban farm was one of Eric’s favorite initiatives. If some of that lettuce found its way to his (Jack’s) table, well, it was high-quality, fresh, locally grown produce.

“It helps to show what they have available each week,” he said. “Not just post a list. And I think the recipe links are helping, too.”

“Congratulations,” James said. “That’s great! You’re taking all of next week, right?”

“Yes, but I’ll have phone and email access,” Eric said. “I’ve queued stuff for our accounts and given the clients I’ve been working with suggestions for things they can do on their own.”

“Take your time and enjoy it,” James said. “You’re going home, right? When are you flying out?”

“Saturday early afternoon,” Eric said. “But I’m flying out of Boston. There’s nothing direct from Providence, and it’s a lot cheaper.”

“But kind of a pain to get to?” James said. “I’m going into Boston on Saturday anyway, if you want a ride.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Eric said. “But a friend said he’d take me. And he has to go to the airport anyway.”

“Works out then,” James said. “And I know you’ve been playing hockey on Fridays, but the team would really like it if you could join us. Do you have hockey? Since it’s a holiday weekend?”

James probably wouldn’t give up until Eric showed up. He’d been nothing but friendly this summer, too. But Eric didn’t want to give up his ice time with Jack, which Eric knew he had booked for every Friday until the beginning of August. Well. How long could after-work drinks go?

“I’m on the ice at Brown until 5,” Eric said. “I could maybe come after? By the time I shower and get over here, it would be 5:45 or so. The ice time is already paid for, so I really can’t change it. Do you think people would still be around?”

“We’re usually there until at least 6:15 or so,” James said. “You’re welcome to bring your friends.”

“Well, maybe the guy I ride with?” Eric said. “Since I’d be catching a ride back with him. I’ll ask him, at least.”

“I’m sure we can handle another hockey player at the table.”

Eric packed for his trip after work Thursday, and Jack picked him up from the Weavers. They went to a small Indian place Eric had been wanting to try before heading back to Jack’s.

“I know it’s the last day we have before I have to go to Georgia,” Eric said. “But James has been asking, and since we have the rest of the night, do you mind if I meet them for a half-hour or so? You don’t have to come if you don’t want.”

“James has been asking, huh?”

“Not like that,” Eric said. “He just really wants to make sure I fit in with the team.”

“Of course you can go,” Jack said. “You don’t need to ask me. And since I’d be dropping you off and picking you up anyway, I might as well come in. If you don’t think it would be too big of a distraction.”

Eric spent Friday morning making freezable desserts and dishes with the perishable food left in Jack’s fridge, “This way you don’t have to worry about cooking when you get back,” he said.

“I think I can safely say I’ve never worried about cooking,” Jack said.

After checking practice, Eric took a little more care than usual in fixing his hair – and he noticed that Jack did, too. Jack was also wearing the dark wash jeans that he knew Eric liked instead his usual track pants.

“Ready to meet my coworkers?”

Jack followed Eric into the bar. James was waving from a corner table in the back, and Eric made his way over, weaving through the tables. It looked like there were still a handful of people there:

“Eric! Glad you made it!” James said. Eric could tell the moment he caught sight of Jack by the way his eyes traveled up. “Who’s your friend?”

Before Eric could answer, Shelly (founder of Watch Me Grow) broke in. “Holy shit! You’re Jack Zimmermann.”

**24**

The rest of the evening went downhill from there.

Jack had frozen, and Eric watched the mask descend over his features. Jack did acknowledge that he was, in fact, Jack Zimmermann, and that he had been helping Eric practice for the upcoming season.

But his voice was flat, like it was in all those TV interviews Eric had seen – and, now that Eric knew the difference, like it was when Jack found out Eric knew who he was the first day they had met.

Then, Eric had gotten past it by chattering on and on, about Samwell and about hockey and even about pie. Here, Jack was peppered with questions from people who weren’t really interested in hockey but were thrilled to meet a famous person.

When Marcus (sustainable wool) asked if it was easy for Jack to pick up women in Providence, Eric thought that at least no one seemed to suspect they were dating.

Jack had kind of shrugged and said, “I don’t really do one-night stands.”

“But think of all the girls you could get,” Marcus pursued. “I bet they’re lined up.”

“Forget the girls,” Brenda (home apiculture) said. “Think of the restaurant reservations. And i don’t think there’s a club in Providence that wouldn’t let you skip the line.”

“Not my scene.”

As Jack’s answers got shorter, Eric tried to cut the questions off – politely – by engaging his coworkers in shop talk. By the second time someone said no one was allowed to talk about work on Friday night, Shelly seemed to realize what was happening, and tried to turn the conversation to Eric.

“So, practicing with a pro? You must be better at hockey than I thought,” she said.

“I know I don’t look like what most people think of as a hockey player,” Eric replied, but Jack was already jumping on that line of conversation.

“He’s really good,” Jack said. “He’s faster than I am, and he’s going to captain his team next year. I was lucky to meet him – he’s been helping me work on speed this summer.”

That wasn’t exactly true, Eric thought, unless giving Jack something to chase on the ice amounted to working on his speed.

But then James was breaking in, asking if Jack might be interested in learning more about the Greenhouse’s clients – rule against shop talk or not – and Eric knew it was time to get Jack out of there.

He downed the rest of his beer and said, “Jack has another commitment, and he’s my ride, so we’ll have to be going. Ready, Jack?”

Jack put his half-finished beer down and said, “Sure, if you don’t mind leaving.”

They left to a chorus of “So great to meet you”s and “Come back anytime”s.

As soon as the door swung closed behind them, Jack said, “We didn’t have to leave.”

“Yes we did,” Eric said. “They were annoying, and some of them were rude, and you were uncomfortable. And my boss was about to ask you to do something, probably to raise awareness of the Greenhouse or some of our clients.”

“So?” Jack said, shrugging. “That’s kind of his job, isn’t it?”

“But you didn’t want to do it, did you?”

“That’s my agent’s job,” Jack said. “I’m kind of used to it. I just refer people to her, and she deals with it.”

“But you weren’t happy,” Eric said. “You got that look you get, and I just thought you needed to get out of there.”

“You didn’t have to leave if you were having a good time,” Jack said mulishly.

“Oh my God, Jack. I was so not having a good time,” Eric said. “All I was doing was trying to keep them from getting to you too much.”

“You shouldn’t not have a good time just because of me,” Jack said.

“You are really not getting the point,” Eric said. “I’ve been avoiding the Friday night gatherings since I got here. All those people are at least five years older than me.”

“Eric, I’m five years older than you.”

“Once again, not the point.”

The next morning, Jack woke Eric early enough to go for a run before they had to leave for the airport.

It was actually early enough to go for a run and for Eric to make breakfast. He made pancakes with Jack’s real maple syrup, but also did some scrambled eggs so Jack wouldn’t complain on the lack of protein.

Then they piled their bags in Jack’s SUV and headed north to Logan. Jack pulled into a spot in long-term parking. After he put the car in park, he turned to Eric.

“Uh, I probably can’t kiss you goodbye in the airport,” he said.

“I know,” Eric said. He turned in his seat and leaned across the console, pressing a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips. “It’s okay. I’ll miss you like anything, but we’ll both be back a week from tomorrow, right?”

“Right,” Jack said.

“And we can text, and call, and Skype,” Eric said.

“I know,” Jack said.

“It’ll be fine,” Eric said.

“Are you sure?” Jack said. “I feel like we’re going to leave, and nothing will be the same when we get back.”

“Nothing will change,” Eric said. “At least, nothing important.”

Then they got out of the car and waited for the shuttle to the terminals, carefully not touching. They sat next to each other on the shuttle, until it stopped at terminal A. Eric jumped up and grabbed his bags..

“See you a week from Sunday,” Eric said, hoping it sounded cheerful and afraid it didn’t.

“See you Sunday,” Jack said. “Talk tonight?”

“Of course,” Eric said.

**25**

It took approximately three hours for Eric to remember why he hadn’t wanted to come home for the summer.

Arriving was fine, even if walking out of the terminal to stand next to the pick-up lane felt like having a hot, wet washcloth draped across his face, and even if Coach was the one to come and get him.

“Your mama was elbow deep in something or other,” Coach sad, after Eric tossed his bag in the bed of truck and climbed in. “So I said I’d make the trip.”

Eric decided to make a little bit of an effort, so he said, “That’s fine. How’s your summer so far?”

“Hot,” Coach said.

“How’s the team look for next year?”

That started Coach off, as he talked about how the starting quarterback had graduated, and there were two coming up who would have to fight it out for the starting role, and thank goodness the defense was sound …

Eric made appropriate noises until Coach ran out of words about 10 minutes later.

They rode in silence for a bit, until Coach offered, “How are things up north? You look like you’re staying in shape. Not making you work too hard at that job?”

“No sir,” Eric said. “I can only work 30 hours a week because otherwise they’d have to give me benefits, so I have Fridays off. And my friend Jack – the one I told Mama about – has been skating with me every Friday, so that helps.”

“She did say something about that,” Coach allowed. “He plays hockey professionally, right?”

“He does,” Eric said. “But most of his team travels over the summer.”

Except that Eric had just met several of them. He wouldn’t mention that.

“Still nice of him,” Coach said.

“Yessir.”

They fell into silence again until Eric turned up the radio, letting the twang of Coach’s favorite country station fill the cab.

Mama, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking, exclaiming over how much he’d grown (He hadn’t. He measured.) and how grown up he looked. She wanted to know the names of everyone in the office, whether they were married or single or in a relationship (“That’s how you young people say it, isn’t it?”), what they all did and how Eric fit in. She asked if his friend Jack was still skating with him, and did he want to visit his old rink this week – not the one in Madison, the one the other side of Atlanta where he’d learned to figure skate from Katya.

And while she was catching him up on everything else, she was also showing him the list of dishes she planned to make with his help for the family gathering the next day and for the community picnic on the Fourth.

The list was long, but nothing was especially difficult, and Eric was ready to roll up his sleeves and dive in when she said, “Dang it, I forgot the blackberries. And we’re definitely going to need more butter and more powdered sugar for the cupcake frosting. Tell you what. Get the money out of my wallet, and take my car keys and run to the Ingles. Pick up a couple of those rotisserie chickens because I clean forgot to make anything for supper, I was so focused on tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Mama,” Eric said.

As soon as he settled in his mother’s old minivan and tuned the radio to a pop station – one from the 2000s at least – he took his phone out to read the string of texts Jack had sent him.

_Made it home. Are you in Georgia yet?_

_I really want to show you Montreal_

_Maman said I get gooey eyes when a I talk about you. She wants to meet you_

_Papa too_

_Miss you_

Eric had texted back once he got home, letting Jack know he arrived safely. And that he’d love to see Montreal. But he didn’t know how to respond to Jack’s texts about his parents. Of course he wanted to meet them – he would have jumped at the chance to meet Alicia Zimmermann in any case, and Bad Bob was nearly as much of a draw now that he’d learned about his hockey history.

But meeting the parents – wasn’t that kind of a big step? When he couldn’t even tell his own parents he was seeing someone? Or, at least, not who he was seeing?

He texted back, _Miss you too. Mama’s got me busy in the kitchen, but she goes to bed early. I’ll text when I can Skype._

Then he put the minivan in gear and drove to the supermarket.

Once there, he collected several cartons of blackberries – it would have been better to buy them by the quart at the farmers market – then three pounds of butter and two pounds of confectioners sugar. Then he got in line in at the deli counter to get chickens fresh off the spit.

Where he came face-to-face with Tommy Barber. The same Tommy Barber who had once complained – loudly – that the football team shouldn’t be expected to change in the locker room when Eric was there waiting in Coach’s office, and had asked everyone on the football team if they knew of anyone poor little Eric Bittle could go to prom with, since none of them were gay.

They had all found it hilarious, even though Eric never once even considered coming out at high school. And he had prom date, thank you very much. Melissa was one of his best friends from skating, and they went to one another’s proms to save each other from the boors in their respective schools.

She, at least, had turned some heads, and made them be quiet for the duration of the dance.

“Hey, Eric,” Tommy said, like he was any other customer. “What can I get you today?”

“A couple of those rotisserie chickens,” Eric said.

“Sure,” Tommy said. “Any cole slaw or potato salad with that?”

“No thanks,” Eric said.

He watched as Tommy placed the chickens in containers, then said, “You working here for the summer?”

Tommy snorted.

“And the fall, winter and spring, too,” he said. “Couldn’t afford to stay at Valdosta State after my dad got laid off. Gotta save some money. What about you? You home for the summer?”

“No, just visiting for the holiday,” Eric said. “I’m working up in Rhode Island this summer. Got an internship.”

“Sounds cool,” Tommy said. “Say hey to Coach. Let him know I’m around if he needs any help next season.”

“Sure,” Eric said, tucking the chickens into his cart and heading for the checkout lanes.

While he was waiting in line, he texted Jack again.

_Do you ever feel like you don’t belong at home anymore?_


	6. Parts 26-30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty spends time in Georgia, contemplating his past and considering coming out.

**26**

When Eric finally talked to a sleepy-looking Jack late that night, he tried to explain what was so unsettling about his encounter with Tommy Barber.

“It was just, like, normal,” he said. “Like we were friends in high school, or at least friendly. And we weren’t.”

“It’s not like he could be rude to you,” Jack said reasonably. “Not if he wants to keep his job. And it sounds like he needs it.”

“I know,” Eric said. “But it didn’t feel like that. I mean, he didn’t have to ask what I was doing, or say anything about Coach. It was weird.”

After that, Jack told him again that both his parents wanted to meet Eric, and they’d be happy to host him in Montreal for a weekend any time.

“Maybe in a few weeks?” Jack asked. “Before you have to go back to school? Or before training camp, in any case.”

“I’d love to see Montreal,” Eric said. “And of course I’d like to meet your parents. I have a passport. My mother said I should get one before I went to school just in case I had the opportunity to travel.”

The only problem was that Eric hadn’t budgeted for a plane trip this summer. His parents bought his ticket to Georgia. He would need everything he earned this summer to help pay his expenses at school. Well, that was a problem for another week.

“Good,” Jack said. “My father wants to try some of your recipes. I know you have a vlog – do you mind if he looks at it?”

Eric felt his face go pink, and he tried to think of a way to stall for time. He didn’t need the Hockey-Hall-of-Famer father of his NHL-star boyfriend watching his 15-year-old self come to terms with his sexuality while teaching his – at that point – dozens of followers the secrets to making a flaky pie crust.

“Do you know what he wants to make?” Eric finally asked. “I could send him links to those episodes.”

Which, once he had them, would not stop Bad Bob Zimmermann from exploring further.

“I can ask,” Jack said. “Um, I don’t mean to pry, but is there a reason you don’t want him to see it?”

“I just try to keep my real life and my internet life separate,” Eric said. “Or as separate as I can. I think there are a couple of people at Samwell that have seen my vlog. But when I started it, I couldn’t tell anyone I knew in Georgia – my followers were the first people I ever told I was gay, even before Shitty – and I’ve just tried to keep it that way. Besides, I was really awkward when I started it.”

Jack chuckled.

“I don’t think you could possibly have anything on me when it comes to awkward teenage years,” Jack said. “But I’ll ask him to respect your privacy.”

“Seriously, if he knows what he wants to make, I can send him recipes. And tips,” Eric said. “And I’d be happy to make anything he wants if we visit.”

“I’ll tell him,” Jack said, and yawned.

“You’re tired,” Eric said, yawning too. “Get some sleep, sweetpea.”

“You too,” Jack said. “Miss you. Talk tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Eric said.

Sunday was … a trial.

First, there was church. Eric didn’t think his parents were under the impression he got up every Sunday in Samwell to go to services, but he knew accompanying them to the First United Methodist Church was a command performance.

Really, he didn’t mind the church so much. The music was good, and the pastor usually eschewed the fire-and-brimstone to focus on “love your neighbor” sermons. The youth pastor had always been kind to Eric when he was in high school, even if the kindness rankled at the time. Eric was never sure whether it came from pity, because the youth pastor knew how much of an outcast he was, or from a conviction that he had to pray for Eric’s soul. Maybe both.

Anyway, church itself wasn’t so bad. It was the sense of being on display for all the blathering biddies. Eric politely greeted the people who spoke to him, but tried not to volunteer too much information. Yes, it was different up north. Yes, he liked his job. Yes, he was still playing hockey. No, people up there didn’t seem to go to church like the folks in Madison.

Then the rest of the day was given up to the annual family Fourth of July gathering.

That meant hauling everything over to Uncle Bill and Aunt Judy’s house, over in Monroe, and seeing at least three dozen assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, without the benefit of his own room to retreat to. These were people who either had known him since he was a baby, or whom he had known since they were babies. Theoretically, knowing each other so well should mean that they would be able to support each other all the better.

Realistically, at least for some people, Eric thought, it meant that they knew best how to push his buttons, how to hurt him while seeming to be polite.

It didn’t take long after they arrived.

Eric and Coach were still bringing food in from the truck when he came into the kitchen to hear Aunt Judy whispering to his mother. He couldn’t hear everything, but even if he hadn’t caught his name (which he had), he would have noticed the way she stopped talking as soon as she saw him.

“Hi, Aunt Judy,” Eric said, pasting his being-nice-to-family smile on. “Something going on?”

“Not a thing, Dicky,” she said. “I was just asking your mother if maybe you had a girlfriend you weren’t talking about, and that’s why you didn’t come home for the summer.”

“No girlfriend,” he said. “Just a job. And I have to be back for hockey the first week of August anyway.”

“If you say so,” she said. “I’d worry less about you if you’d find a nice girl.”

His cousin Brad, who’d come inside to get a beer, snorted at that, but Aunt Judy ignored it, so Eric did too.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Pretty busy with work, and hockey, and my friends. And teaching those northerners how to cook.”

That started the conversation down a well-worn path. Maybe Aunt Judy and Mama couldn’t agree on the proper way to make jam, but they had no disagreement on the superiority of southern cooking.

It was even later when he talked to Jack, and he apologized. “Just a lot of family to wrangle,” he said. “And then cleanup and all.”

“How did it go?” Jack asked.

“As well as could be expected,: Eric said. “I really wish I could talk about you.”

**27**

Monday passed in a blur, with the community picnic in the afternoon and fireworks in the evening. Eric was pleased to see the pies he made the evening before disappear quickly at the picnic, and enjoyed catching up with his camp kids from previous summers.

No one was outright rude, even if he felt like some of ladies of his parents’ generation were looking at him more than was polite. Most of the people his age simply ignored him, which was about the best he could hope for.

He did see a couple of his old hockey teammates, which was fun. He wished he could tell them that he was skating every week with an NHL player – forget dating, they’d love to hear about his practice sessions with Jack. But it was probably better not to talk about the time they spent together, especially here, where not being out didn’t stop people from assuming his sexuality.

Lying back on a blanket next to his mother to watch the fireworks, he couldn’t help thinking how much better it would be if he was lying next to Jack, with his parents nowhere in the vicinity.

He told Jack about it that night – their latest talk yet.

“You can tell people we skate together,” Jack said, looking confused. “You can even tell them you’re faster than me. I don’t mind.”

“But they all think I’m gay,” Eric said.

“So?” Jack said.

“So if you’re willingly skating with me, then they’ll think you must be gay too,” Eric explained.

“That really doesn’t follow,” Jack said. “I mean, are all of the hockey teammates you have ever had been gay? Everyone you trained with for figure skating?”

“First, they think any guy who figure skates is gay, which – at least from the perspective of 14-year-old me – is sadly not true,” Eric said. “And no, of course not all of my teammates are gay. But they don’t have a choice about being on the ice with me. You do.”

“Eric, they voted you captain,” Jack said. “No one made them do that. And I know it’s hard because I’m not ready to be out publicly – not yet, if I can help it – but that won’t last forever. I promise. For now, no one can tell me I can’t have friends who are gay. And of course you can talk about me to your friends and family.”

Eric didn’t argue, but privately thought Jack just didn’t get it. Providence was generally an LGBT-friendly city. From what he’d read about Montreal, it was too.

The next day, he sat at the kitchen table, plotting out a couple of vlog episodes he wanted to record that week, including one with MooMaw as a guest star. They had talked about it yesterday, and he promised he would give her a copy of the video.

He was tapping at his laptop, wondering if they could get away with two – maybe even three? – recipes, since he had learned so much from MooMaw, when his mother set a glass of tea next to him and took the seat opposite.

“You’ve been home for almost three days and I feel like we’ve hardly had a chance to talk to each other, Dicky,” she said, sipping at her own glass. “How are you doing, really? Not too lonely up in Providence all by yourself?”

“It’s fine, Mama,” Eric said. “I mean, the people at work are nice. My boss, James, makes sure I know I’m invited out with the team every week.”

“What’s that like?”

Eric shrugged.

“Okay, I guess. I only went once,” he said. “They’re all older than me, and I work with them, so …”

His mother made an encouraging noise.

“It’s just a little hard to be myself?” he said.

“Tell me about them,” she said. “What’s this James fellow like?”

“He started the Greenhouse, and he’s the one I work with most,” Eric said. “Kind of like a cross between a yuppie and a hipster? He’s, I don’t know, somewhere in his 30s? Smart. Very smart. Is into using social media to help the startups he works with get attention.”

“Is he a family man?” she asked.

“He’s not married, I don’t think,” Eric said. “At least he’s never mentioned anyone. Marcus, though, is engaged. He’s got like half a dozen pictures of his fiance on his desk. And Shelly – the one who started the farmstand, she’s married and has kids.”

He didn’t mention that her wife’s name was Gloria.

“Have you had much of a chance to cook? You said your landlord didn’t want you using the kitchen too much.”

“Actually, remember the guy I mentioned? Jack? I told him about how I couldn’t bake, and he offered to let me come over and use his kitchen,” Eric said. “Mama, you should see it. It’s gorgeous – gas range with an electric oven, marble countertops, and I could live in the cabinet space.”

“Sounds lovely,” his mother said. “But you should be sure not to wear out your welcome. You don’t want to take too much advantage of his kindness.”

“It’s not really like that, Mama,” Eric said.

“No? Then what is it like?”

“It’s just that –” he really likes me, and I like him, and we’ve been sleeping together three nights a week? Nope. That wouldn’t work. “It’s just that he really likes my food, because you know how most people are – they barely know how to feed themselves – so I make sure not to just make desserts, and whatever I make I share with him.”

“Oh,” his mother said. “I guess that makes sense. Almost like you’re a personal chef or some such.”

It struck Eric that his mother thought almost the same thing Tater did, although Tater thought Jack was paying him to cook. Well. His mother knew better than Tater how much access to a kitchen was worth to him.

That night, the backdrop behind Jack was different. The room was paneled instead of painted, and the curtains were a cheerful checked pattern.

“We came over to the lake house today,” Jack said. “In Nova Scotia.”

“Isn’t that, like, a long way from Montreal?”

“I guess,” Jack said. “But the flight’s not long, and there’re several every day.”

“But don’t you have to get to the airport like two hours ahead?” Eric asked.

“Not really,” Jack said. “We all have Trusted Traveller identification, and the lines aren’t long. And it’s only a short drive from the airport to Hatchet Lake.”

Eric wondered, briefly, about that: Did they rent a car every time? Keep a car there? At their house or at the airport? Wave a wand over a pumpkin and have it turn into a carriage?

Instead, he asked, “What’s it like there?”

“Really quiet,” Jack said. “It’s summer, so there are more people around, but there’s woods and meadows, and we’re not far from the ocean. I spent a lot of time here after … after my overdose. I think my parents were taking turns staying with me, a few days at a time. But it was the only place I could really relax and just think. It’s where I decided to keep playing and enter the draft again the next year.”

“It sounds like it’s important to you,” Eric said.

“It is,” Jack said. “That’s why I wanted to share it with you. Maybe I’ll send you some photos tomorrow?”

“That would be great,” Eric said.

**28**

Eric unloaded the bags of groceries from his mother’s minivan and then went back for his laptop and his two cameras. Moomaw was looking over what he brought and pulling flour, sugar and butter from her own supplies.

Once he got everything inside, he set the computer down.

“I think we’ll start sitting at the table, just talking about how you taught me to bake, and why we’re doing these dishes, all right?” Eric said.

“Is there a script?” Moomaw asked. “Anything you want me to say?”

“No script,” Eric said. “I have some points I want to mention, and you can say whatever you like. It’s going to take us all afternoon to make these, and my posts are usually no more than a half-hour, so I’ll be editing a lot out. Even if I do break it into two posts. I’ll try to make it flow and make it interesting, but if there’s anything you want me to edit out, you just say so.”

“Would you like a glass of tea while we start?” Moomaw asked.

“Sure, that would be good,” Eric said, getting up to place one of the cameras and checking the viewfinder. “You sit right there, all right?”

Eric moved a chair next to hers and sat down.

As soon as Moomaw set two glasses of tea on the table and sat down, Eric straightened up and gave a cheerful wave to the camera.

“Hey, y’all! I have a special treat today. We’re here in my Moomaw’s kitchen, the place where I made my very first pie, and my first cookies, and my first cake, and my first – well, I’m sure you get it. Moomaw is right here with me, and we’re going to make some of our favorite desserts. You want to tell them what we’re going to make, Moomaw?”

“I think we’re going to do a classic chess pie, and then one of your favorites – peach cobbler,” Moomaw said. “And of course, strawberry shortcake, because that’s something pretty much anyone can make.”

“That’s right,” Eric said. “But I want to put a twist on the cobbler – we’re making a peach-pecan cobbler, and instead of biscuit dough, we’re going to use pie crust, and make it in two layers. It makes more of a special occasion dessert. So how do you think we should start?”

“It sounds like we have a lot of pie crust to make,” Moomaw said.

“Sure do,” Eric said. “Let’s get to it.”

With that, he stood and turned off the camera.

“Let me get everything set up for this,” he said. “We’re not going to really focus on how – I’ve done several posts on pie crust that we can link to – so we can just chat while we do this.”

Once the cameras were set up, Eric and his MooMaw started work, each on their own batch of pie dough.

“This reminds of when you were a little boy,” MooMaw said. “Working at this table together.”

“I must have been, what, maybe 5? the first time you showed me how to make pie crust,” Eric said. “You put me to work cutting the fats into the flour, and then sprinkling the water over it.”

“Then you would take your own little ball of dough and roll it out,” MooMaw said. “You’d roll it and roll it until it was the consistency of Play-Doh.”

“Really?” Eric said. “But you used to bake my scraps with cinnamon and sugar, and they were delicious.”

“Well, I used to bake scraps with cinnamon and sugar,” MooMaw said. “Sometimes they were yours, especially once you learned better.”

“I never knew,” Eric said.

“You weren’t supposed to,” MooMaw said. “It doesn’t do to discourage someone who’s just starting to learn.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eric said.

“It was nice having company in the kitchen those years when you were little,” MooMaw said.

“Do you ever get anyone to cook with you now?”

“I do, actually,” Eric said. “I was teaching –”

He was about to tell her about Jack, but stopped himself just in time. He covered the pause by mending a non-existent tear in the crust he was rolling out.

“I was teaching one of my teammates,” he continued. “When he first got to school, he thought it was a little unusual for a hockey player to bake. Now he’s the second-best baker on the team.”

“Well, I know some people don’t think it’s something boys should do,” MooMaw said. “But everyone should be able to feed themselves. Liking to bake doesn’t mean there’s anything _wrong_ with you.”

“Of course not,” Eric said, with a forced smile. “Everyone could use a little sweetness in their life.”

When the cameras were turned off while they got ready to make the fruit fillings, Eric took the opportunity to ask the question that had been on the tip of his tongue earlier.

“What did you mean when you said there wasn’t anything wrong with me?” he said. “Wrong like what?”

MooMaw was carefully placing the peaches in boiling water and watching for the skins to split. As soon as one did, Eric plucked it out and plunged it into ice water.

“There’s nothing at all wrong with you, Dicky-bird,”: she said, slipping the skin from the now-cool peach. “You’re a fine young man, and I’m very proud of you.”

Eric continued pulling the peaches from the pot on the stovetop.

“That’s not really what I asked,” he said.

“Well, I know you know some people think baking is a feminine pursuit,” she said. “Some people think that would mean that maybe you weren’t as masculine as you should be. Which is hogwash, of course. You’re just as you should be.”

Eric wished he knew what she meant by that. He felt like a coward for not pursuing it further, but he wanted to turn the camera on to show his viewers what they were doing.

Later, once the the chess pie was baking and they were assembling the cobbler, she asked if he was getting any skating in over the summer.

“Just working on hockey stuff,” Eric said. “I met one of the Falconers – that’s the NHL team in Providence – just kind of by chance, and I’ve been skating with him. Jack’s really been helping me learn how to check people.”

“What’s this Jack like?” MooMaw said. “What’s his favorite pie?”

“He’s really kind of quiet and shy off the ice,” Eric said. “But really kind and considerate. Well, he’d have to be, to help the likes of me. Let’s see He’s from Canada – Montreal, so he grew up speaking French. He’s a good half-foot taller than me, and at least 70 pounds heavier, but he’s careful not to be too rough. I made him pie the second time I saw him – I think his favorite is maple apple, but he likes peach, too.”

“He sounds like a wonderful young man,” MooMaw said. “I’m glad you’re making some good friends. Maybe you should find out what foods he likes fromm Montreal.”

“Maybe I should,” Eric said.

That night, when Eric called Jack, he said, “I can’t quite figure out what she was trying to say. I think – I _think_ she was trying to say that there would be nothing wrong with me being gay, but she didn’t want to say that in case I took offense. But what if she was saying that baking doesn’t make me gay? I mean, it doesn’t, but I _am_ gay.”

“One way to find out,” Jack said. “I’m not saying you have to tell anyone. But it would clear up the confusion.”

“I know,” Eric said. “And I have to tell Mama by the end of the summer, in case someone writes something about me being out and the hockey captain. Best to do it in person, I guess? But not just yet. I’ve got a couple more days.”

**29**

On Thursday, Eric’s mother drove with him to his old skating rink.

Walking in now, he could see how it was a little dark in the lobby, a little shabby. The benches where people put their skates on were the same ones that he sat on the first time he laced up for a lesson with Katya, and the rubber flooring was scarred from years of skaters making their way across it on sharp blades.

He tried to see it the way he had when he was eight, when it was huge and cavernous and almost mysterious. This dingy lobby was his portal to the ice, which gave him the power to fly.

Well, first he had to work through hours of exercises and patterns, as well as skinned knees and elbows and a sore behind. But it had all been worth it. So, so worth it, to gather his speed and feel the rush of air through his hair and making his T-shirt ripple. Once he could use that momentum to leap free from the ice, he liked to think he was a totally different kind of creature, not a scrawny, undersized boy, not a human at all.

Then he would land and start the transformation over again.

Eric pushed his way through the glass doors into the rink proper. Here, the lights reflected off the ice, illuminating every corner. But his attention was drawn immediately to the center, where a short, stocky woman was instructing a small girl on how to do a step sequence. Katya – Eric would know her anywhere – demonstrated with the grace Eric remembered, then counted out the steps as the student tried.

“Good,” Katya finally said. “Practice that off the ice so you’re ready for next time, yes? Good job today, Jessica.”

The girl turned and skated for the door where Eric was standing, his mother hanging back near the lobby door. As soon as she headed his way, Katya caught his eye.

“Eric! It’s been too long.”

She followed Jessica to the boards, beaming at Eric. “How are you? I know you play hockey now, but do you ever practice.”

“Not as much as I should,” Eric said, smiling at his old coach.

“Then nothing has changed,” she said, and laughed.

“I guess not,” Eric said ruefully.

“You know I was only teasing,” Katya said. “Jessica, this is Eric Bittle, and he was one of my best students until he abandoned figure skating to play hockey. And after winning the 2010 Southern Regional Junior Championships.”

“You know it wasn’t like that,” Eric said.

“I know, Eric, I know,” Katya said. “And if you’d wanted to go much further, you would have needed to find a different coach anyway. But I was glad when your mother called and asked if you could visit. Did you bring skates?”

“I didn’t know that this was a skating visit,” Eric said.

“This is a skating rink, no?” Katya said. “What size do you wear? Let’s check the office.”

Ten minutes later, Eric found himself on the ice, doing the kind of moves he only did in the early mornings when he could get Faber to himself.

He twizzled and did a series of choctaw turns, then pulled himself into a scratch spin.

“Did you know I once pulled off a single axel in hockey skates? On a frozen pond?” he asked.

“Really?” Katya said. “And what would make you do such a thing? You risk your head like that.”

“I had my hockey helmet on,” Eric said.

“As though that makes it better,” she said.

“Can I try one here?” Eric said.

Katya skated to the side. “Proper skates, proper ice. If you feel you can, go ahead.”

Eric sped up and launched himself, spun one and a half revolutions and wobbled only slightly on the landing.

When he looked back at her, Katya was smiling and shaking her head. “You could have been better than you think,” she said.

“Maybe,” Eric said. “But I don’t know if I was ready to make the sacrifices that I would have had to. Especially since nothing is a sure thing, as you often reminded me.”

“I know,” Katya said. “I know things were hard for you already, and I couldn’t push you too hard if it wasn’t something you were ready to sacrifice for on your own.”

“You were always good to me,” Eric said. “Even when I was a little brat who hadn’t practiced the way I should.”

“You?” Katya said. “You were never a brat. Always a good boy.”

“I think you may be misremembering.”

“Never,” she said. “Tell me, are you happy now? Living so far away?”

Eric took a moment to consider, his mind lighting on the ice at Faber, the Haus kitchen, the faces of Lardo and Shitty, Ransom and Holster. And Jack, looking up at him from the couch while he cooked, looking up at him from the bed …

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

“Good,” Katya said. “You are a good boy. You deserve to be happy.”

Shortly after that, they skated to the side, where Eric’s mother was waiting.

“Feels like old times, watching you on the ice,” she said. “You always looked so much more relaxed out there.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eric said. “Thanks for suggesting we visit.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Katya said. “Come over any time you’re in town.”

“I will,” Eric said, and he meant it, even if he had never visited before. “And you should come to a hockey game, if you ever get up to Massachusetts.”

“Okay,” Katya said. “I will.”

Eric watched his mother drive on the way back.

“What did you mean I always looked more relaxed on the ice?” he asked.

She turned onto the entrance ramp onto I-75, then merged before she answered.

“You looked like yourself,” she said. “Not like you were trying to hide who you were.”

It almost slipped out then. It would have been so easy to say, “Mama, I’m gay,” but he stopped himself. He still had two full days here; if it didn’t go well, it could be very bad.

“I’m gonna tell them,” Eric told Jack that night. “Saturday night, when I can leave the next morning, either way.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the right thing, right?”

“Whatever makes you the most confident,” Jack said. “When you say you’re going to tell them –”

“Just about me,” Eric said. “Don’t worry.”

**30**

Eric spent most Friday at his laptop, headphones on, as he tried to edit the four hours of video he got from MooMaw’s house into at least two usable vlog entries.

His mother and Coach had both had to work, so after breakfast, Eric washed up and brought his computer into the den, where he could shift between the couch and the desk his parents kept for their paperwork.

Two hours in, he thought the den was a poor choice of workspace. The shelf above the desk had row of ribbons he’d won for his baking.He hadn’t wanted to hang them in his room; his mama and MooMaw taught him everything he knew, and it seemed that the family should be able to enjoy them.

But the ends dangled above the desk where Coach worried over his starting lineup and tried to come up with plays that his team could execute but would confound their opponents. Did Coach enjoy having his son’s baking ribbons hanging over his head? He’d never said he didn’t, but Eric never felt like his father valued his baking.

The wall next to him was covered with photographs from his figure skating career: Eric posing in one of his first costumes, dark leggings and baby blue flowing satin shirts; Eric on podiums, climbing the steps as he grew; Eric spinning like a top and caught in mid-air.

Eric tried to remember how often Coach had come to see him skate. It had been Mama who got up and drove him to practice before school three days a week and after school twice a week and to competitions on the weekends.

MooMaw often joined them for the competition, toting a basket full of cookies and muffins to distribute among his rinkmates, despite Katya’s clucking about proper nutrition. Looking back on it, Eric decided Katya hadn’t really minded so much. If she had, she wouldn’t have had a problem putting a stop to it. Instead, she made a little bit of a fuss so the skaters would feel like they were getting away with something.

Katya was a wise woman. Eric would do well to learn from her as he assumed the captaincy in August.

So was MooMaw. Eric watched the footage of her telling him there was nothing wrong with him over and over, trying to decide whether to include it. His viewers – the regular ones, at least – all knew he was gay, and they would probably assume that was what she was talking about. He wanted to think the same.

But MooMaw was a woman of her place and time, and Eric just didn’t know. Had she even heard the rumors about him? 

Coach had. Of course he had – a lot of them came from his own team.

He was pretty sure Mama had, too. She managed the local pediatrician’s office, and everyone came through there.

But neither one had ever mentioned the rumors to him. Never said, “Junior, the boys were talking about you, saying you’re gay. Is that true?” or “Dicky, Mrs. Jones thinks you’re a homosexual. What do you think of that?”

Maybe it would have been easier if they had. Maybe he wouldn’t have found it in himself to flat-out lie, and everything would be out in the open. Now he felt like he was lying to everyone: to his parents and MooMaw, by not telling them he was gay, not telling them he had a boyfriend and was happy; and to Jack, by acting like he was out and proud, when he couldn’t even tell his own parents he was in love. And he was in love, even if he hadn’t had the courage to tell Jack that.

What would MooMaw say if she knew? He wished he was certain.

Eventually, he decided to leave that in. He was doing these episodes to show his viewers where he learned to bake, and (he had to admit to himself) to show them that there were people who loved him. If people chose to assume that she was referring to him being gay, then let them.

He decided to put the cobbler (and her statement that there was nothing wrong with him) in one video, and the chess pie and the strawberry shortcake (and his recollections of learning to roll out pie crust) in the other.

He had just finished editing the first one and was trimming the second one when he heard Coach come in from the garage. He listened to Coach put his travel mug in the kitchen sink and wash his hands. Then Coach came through to the den to put down his satchel of papers.

“You been in here all day, Junior?” Coach asked.

“Pretty much,” Eric said. “I had a lot of video to edit from baking with MooMaw.”

“It’s nice you’re so close with her,” Coach said. “Lot of wisdom there. Her and your mother both.”

“Yessir.”

Coach fell quiet, and after a moment, Eric looked up from his screen to see Coach looking at the wall of figure skating pictures.

“I wish I’d been able to make more of your competitions,” he said.

“What?”

“These competitions,” Coach said. “It seemed they always coincided with football season. But I should have made the time. It feels like I missed you growing up.”

Eric was at a loss for words. Saying “You did,” would feel true, but unnecessarily hurtful. Saying it didn’t matter would be a lie, and maybe hurtful too. So he shrugged. “You were busy.”

Coach nodded at the picture of Eric on the ice at the 2010 Southern Regional Championships.

“I was at that one, though,” he said. “I was so proud of you your mother thought I’d burst my buttons.”

Eric remembered his father clapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Good job, son,” when he skated off the ice after getting his medal. And then telling him they were moving.

“I didn’t know that,” Eric said.

“I should’ve told you more,” Coach said. “I hope you know I’m proud of you now, making a success of things up north, being named captain of your team.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Eric said. “You should try to make it up for a game.”

“I will, son,” Coach said. “I’d really like that.”

Later, when Eric talked to Jack, he put his head in his hands. “I’ve gone and done it,” he said. “I invited Coach to Samwell. Now I have to tell them.”

“Wait, you mean he’s never been to see you?” Jack said.

Eric shook his head.

“Why not?”

“I always thought he just wasn’t interested,” Eric said. “But maybe not. Jack, what am I gonna do? I have to tell them, and it has to be tomorrow, or Sunday morning, I guess. No, tomorrow. I just don’t know how.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Jack said.


	7. Parts 31-35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric comes out to his family, with a little help from Jack. It's not great.

**31**

Eric got up the next day still trying to figure out how he was going to tell Mama and Coach that he was gay. He knew he had to; he would be the first out NCAA hockey captain, and someone was bound to notice.

And maybe, once he did, he would feel more at home here. More like himself. All week, he had felt like an imposter, like someone trying to be the son his parents once had. Had he changed so much?

After all, he’d always been gay, been well aware of it certainly by middle school. But it was different then. He wasn’t sharing that part of himself with anyone. Now all his friends knew. He even had a boyfriend, for pete’s sake.

He was pretty sure his parents wouldn’t react too badly. They wouldn’t yell and scream. They wouldn’t disown him, or refuse to pay his tuition next year. At least he didn’t think so.

But he didn’t want to see disappointment in their eyes, watch their faces as they reevaluated everything he’d ever done.

Well. It wasn’t like he could catch his flight tomorrow and send them a text from the airport: _Btw, I’m gay_

Eric made breakfast for his parents, something he hadn’t done since he’d been home. He made stacks of pancakes, something he couldn’t do for Jack. That would be way too many simple carbs for Jack; the most he would eat would be one or two with his eggs.

“Any plans for today, Junior?” Coach asked.

“Nah,” Eric said. “I’ll be around all day if you need me to do anything.”

“I do want you to go through some of the things in your room,” Mama said. “I don’t think you’d fit into half the clothes in your dresser.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eric said.

“And I was thinking of inviting your MooMaw for dinner tonight, since you’ll be gone before the family dinner tomorrow. We’re having fried chicken,” she said.

“That’d be great,” Eric said.

After breakfast, he mowed the lawn for Coach, then headed in to shower and go through the detritus of his adolescence that remained in his room.

There were a couple of cookbooks he’d like to have at the Haus, so he packed a box with them, and a few T-shirts that somehow never made it up north before. He also threw in a photo album from his figure skating days. Jack might like to see it.

After sending a quick text to the underclassmen spending the summer at the Haus, he addressed it to go there, and asked his mother to send it on Monday.

“You’ve been kind of quiet this week,” Mama said. “You have fun? Was it all right, going to see Katya?”

“Yes ma’am,” Eric said. “Just a lot going on.”

“All right,” Mama said. “I’m going to start dinner. Why don’t you sit down and watch the ballgame with your father?”

“I can help you,” he said.

“Maybe in a bit,” she said. “I can cut up the chicken just fine on my own.”

So Eric pulled a beer from the fridge and flopped on the couch in the den, watching the Braves try to catch up to the White Sox in an interleague game in Chicago.

“They’re pathetic,” Eric said, watching as the White Sox extended their lead to 5-1 at the end of the third.

“Lotta game left,” Coach said from the recliner. “Don’t count ‘em out yet.”

The Braves came back to make it 5-3 in the fourth, and added another run in the sixth, but fell one run short.

Mama must need help by now, Eric thought, getting up when the game ended. He was crossing the living room on the way to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” he called. It was about time for MooMaw to get there.

He opened the door to find Jack Zimmermann standing on the porch.

**32**

Eric just stood and stared.

He finally found his voice when he heard his mother call, “Is your MooMaw here, Dicky?”

“No,” he responded. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Then he stepped onto the porch and pulled the door almost shut behind him.

“Gotta keep the air conditioning inside,” he said.

When Jack still didn’t say anything, Eric finally asked the obvious question.

“Jack, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack blurted. “I can go.”

“What? Wait – no, you don’t have to go, at least not without telling me what’s going on.”

“I wanted to see you,” Jack said. “It was selfish.”

“We were gonna meet up at Logan tomorrow,” Eric said. “But it’s sweet. Are you okay? Is there some kind of a problem? Something I can help with? Lord, Jack, you’re more ‘n a thousand miles away from where I thought you were.”

“You seemed distant,” Jack said. “When we talked.”

“We _were_ a thousand miles apart,” Eric said.

“Haha,” Jack said. “I missed you. And I was worried about you. I knew today was weighing on your mind.”

Eric sucked in a breath and tried to think of a nice way to say, “And you thought having my boyfriend turn up on the doorstep would make this conversation easier?”

He failed, but Jack picked up the thread anyway.

“I know I should have called, but I was so set on getting here, I didn’t think about how you might not want me to come until I was on the plane,” Jack said. “And then when we landed, I realized that if I called from the airport, you’d probably feel obligated to come and get me, or at least talk to me, and that might be even more inconvenient. But I got a hotel room by the airport, and I rented a car, so I really can go.”

When Jack finished speaking, he was looking at Eric so earnestly that Eric wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and tell him he would always be glad to see him. But they were standing on his parents’ front porch, in full view of the neighbors, with MooMaw expected at any minute.

And he would have to explain Jack’s presence to his family.

“Silly,” he finally said, looking up at Jack’s face and smiling. “Of course I’m glad you’re here. And I’ve been missing you too. And I’ve sort of been missing me as well, if that makes any sense. How did you find me, anyway?”

“I looked up your parents on a white pages website,” Jack said. “And I do know how to use the maps app on my phone. Thirdy showed me once.”

“Come on, let’s go in and meet my parents.”

He stepped back, pushing the door open as he went, and stood aside to let Jack enter. He led Jack through the living room, with its matching sofa and loveseat and magazines spread on the coffee table, and the dining room, already set for four, to the kitchen, where his mother was stirring something on the stove.

“Uh, Mama, we need to set another place for dinner,” he said.

When she turned, he said, “This is Jack – remember, the hockey player I told you about? He somehow got his flights mixed up and ended up in Atlanta.”

His mother’s eyebrows were fighting to rise right up to her hairline. Eric could see the act of will it took for her to keep them in place and put on a company smile.

“Jack, how lovely of you to come by,” she said. “You just drove from the airport? Do you need to freshen up? Or have a drink of water?”

“I’ll show him where the bathroom is, Mama,” Eric said, leading the way back into the hallway and up the stairs.

“There’s another bathroom downstairs, too, but there’s more privacy up here,” Eric said. “Bathroom’s in there.”

Then he pulled Jack into his own room, closed the door quietly, and pulled Jack down for a kiss. “Just so you know I really am happy to see you,” he said. “Now I have to set another place and help Mama. Come on down when you’re ready.”

By the time Eric made it back to the kitchen, MooMaw was seated at the table and Mama was putting the biscuits in the oven.

“Dicky, could you fix your MooMaw a drink before you add a place setting to the table?” his mother said. “And maybe explain why your friend decided to show up for dinner?”

“He heard what a good cook you are?” Eric hazarded, pouring bourbon over ice in a highball glass. He took the glass to the kitchen tap, added a drop of water, and set it before his grandmother. “Seriously, I had no idea he was coming.”

“No idea who was coming?” Coach asked, crossing the kitchen to deposit his beer bottle in the recycling bin.

“Dicky’s friend, the hockey player,” Mama said. “Jack. He rang the front bell not 10 minutes ago.”

“Your friend?” Coach said. “You want to make him welcome, Junior?”

“Yessir,” Eric said. Anything less – from sending him on his way to offering less than the best pieces of chicken – would be a gross violation of the hospitality Eric was raised to offer, and if he chose to do that, his parents would want to know why. “Of course he’s welcome.”

He glanced at MooMaw and saw her beaming.

“I’ll just go add a place setting,” Eric said, scooping up the plate, napkin and cutlery that his mother had set on the counter.

He set Jack’s place next to his own, and went back to start ferrying food to the table. Jack had come downstairs and was holding a glass of water.

“You’re sure I can’t offer you a beer?” Coach was asking him.

“Or something stronger?” MooMaw suggested.

“No, thanks,” Jack said. “Really. I still have to drive back to Atlanta. I have a hotel room there.”

“Surely you don’t need to be back tonight?” Mama said. “You can stay in Dicky’s room.”

**33**

Mama surely meant that Jack could stay in his room while Eric took the couch. It wasn’t like they were 10-year-olds having a sleepover, right?

Although the thought of staying up late with Jack, telling stories by the light of a flashlight had a certain appeal. But Jack was huge; there was no way they both would fit in his old single bed. Well, not unless they were cuddled together all night. Which was not a thought Eric should be entertaining at the dinner table. Mama was talking about having Eric sleep on the couch. Definitely.

Jack apparently thought the same thing.

“That’s a kind offer, but I couldn’t put Eric out of his bed,” he said. “It’s really no trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Eric’s mother said. “Eric’s planning to fly back tomorrow too. Maybe then you could go to the airport together. It would save me the trip.”

Eric knew Jack was done for. If Mama was going to make it look like Jack would be doing her a favor by accepting her offer, well, there was no way he could get out of it without being rude, and Eric was pretty sure Jack simply didn’t have the capability of doing that in his Canadian soul.

“Well, if it would make it easier for you …” Jack said.

Game, set, match to Mama.

“What brings you to Georgia, Jack?” Coach asked. “Not much for a hockey player to do around here, is there? At least since the Thrashers moved on.”

“I don’t know about that, sir,” Jack said. “I mean, Eric’s a pretty good hockey player, and he’s from here.”

“I suppose,” Coach said, but he looked doubtful.

“Have you ever seen him play?”

“I saw a couple of his high school games,” Coach said.

“That was a club team, right?” Jack asked Eric. “Rec league.”

“Yep,” Eric said. “No-check. That’s why the transition was so tough for me.”

“Totally different game,” Jack said. “To go from that to NCAA D-I, that’s incredible. And then to be made captain? Eric’s really something special.”

Eric knew he was red to the roots of his hair, and knew Coach was about to start spluttering.

Time to deflect.

“Hush, Jack You haven’t even seen me play yet. Not for real.”

“No, but I plan to as soon as your season starts,” Jack said. “And I’ve seen tape, and I’ve practiced with you enough to know how fast you are. You’ve never seen me play live either.”

“That’s not the same,” Eric said. “You play in the NHL. Your games are on TV all the time.”

Jack was silent for a moment, and Mama jumped in to change the subject.

“So, Jack, your parents must be very proud of you,” she said. “What do they do?”

Now it was Jack’s turn to blush.

“Um, my mother was an actress,” he said. “She mostly does charity work right now. My father was a hockey player too.”

“Wait, Zimmermann – your father isn’t Bob Zimmermann? He must be,” Mama said. “I thought you looked familiar before. Mother, do you remember when Connie had all his little cards? And then she threw them in the trash when he married that movie star – wait, your mother is Alicia Page? Oh my goodness. You must have been flying all over the world since you were a baby.”

Jack shrugged. “Not really? We moved to Montreal before I started school, and we mostly stayed there until I left home to play hockey,” he said. “I mean, we went to our lake house, and to visit my grandparents. And Mama did take me to Paris once. But we didn’t travel all the time.”

“Well, I just can’t believe I have the son of Bob Zimmermann and Alicia Page at my dinner table,” Mama said. “I can’t wait to tell Connie. Oh, I should have made something better for dinner.”

“This is delicious, ma’am.”

“Yes, Mama, this is way better than what Jack usually eats at home,” Eric said. “The first time he let me borrow his kitchen to cook, I couldn’t believe what he had in his pantry. Or didn’t have, as the case may be. The only spices he had were salt, pepper and cinnamon!”

“Yes, my cabinets are lot more full since Eric started using my kitchen,” Jack said. “And I think I’m eating a lot better.”

“I should hope so,” Eric said. “More real food, not so much protein powder.”

“Protein powder has a role,” Jack said.

“Yes, but not to the exclusion of real food,” Eric said.

“Listen to the two of you,” MooMaw said. “Bickering like an old married couple.”

“I thought Jack was practicing with you, Junior,” Coach said. “Not that you were cooking for him.”

“Um, both?” Eric said. “It didn’t start so much as cooking for him as cooking in his place, and it would be rude to cook there and not feed him.”

“I’ve really learned a lot from Eric,” Jack said.

“Well, you could hardly have anyone better to teach you how to make pie,” MooMaw said.

“I know,” Jack said. “That was the first thing we made together.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” MooMaw said.

“I’m sure it wasn’t like that, Mother,” Mama said.

“Like what?” MooMaw said.

Coach jumped in.

“I think Suzanne meant that it sounded like Jack and Eric had some kind of a … relationship,” Coach said. “I assure you no one thinks that, Jack.”

“Why not?” Jack said. “Friendship is –”

“We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Coach said. “The fact is, some people think Junior is, well …”

Eric shoved his chair back and stood up. No one had taken a bite for the last little while, and at this rate, they’d never even get to dessert anyway. Time to put an end to the farce.

“You mean some people think I’m gay,” he said, voice low and even. “And while I hate to give people who spread rumors that kind of satisfaction, the fact is, they’re right. I am gay. Jack already knew that. So do my friends from school, and my teammates, and my coaches. I was going to tell you tonight anyway, because being the first out college hockey captain might get some attention this fall. But it would have been nice to do that without you embarrassing me in front of Jack. Now can we all just finish our dinner?”

**34**

Eric sank back into his chair, doing his best to not fall face-first into his plate.

Jack knocked his knee into Eric’s, and then, apparently thinking that wasn’t enough, reached over and squeezed his knee under the table.

Eric took enough courage from that to look around the table. Mama was looking down at her plate, her hands in her lap. Coach was staring at him. Moomaw was lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes to her mouth.

After she swallowed, she said, “Have you tried putting a little white pepper in these, Suzanne? Might give them a little zip.”

“Mother!” Mama said. “I think we need to address Eric.”

“Oh, I think he agrees with me,” MooMaw said. “Don’t you, Dicky? You never were afraid of doing something a little differently.”

“Mother, that’s not what we were talking about. Eric – Dicky – I don’t understand. Did this happen when you went to that school?”

“No, Mama,” Eric said, wishing Shitty were here to explain for him. “Nothing _happened_ to me. This is just who I am, and who I’ve always been.”

“But what about Amy Miller? You had such a crush on her,” Mama said. “She was the whole reason you started skating.”

“Mama, we were in the second grade,” Eric said. “We were friends. Until middle school, when she told me she could only be friends with me outside of school because she didn’t want people to be mean to her for hanging out with the gay kid. And she started skating because of me.”

“But you never said anything,” Mama said. “We could have done something. We could have fixed this.”

“Fixed what, Mama?” Eric asked. “Me? That’s why I never said anything. Because I didn’t want you to see me as a problem or something that needs to be fixed. Especially since when I was a kid, I would have given anything to be different. I didn’t want to disappoint you. It wasn’t until I had friends who accepted me – all of me – that I understood how important that was.”

“You remember what I told you, right?” MooMaw said, and winked. “I still mean it.”

“I know, MooMaw,” Eric said.

“Now, Junior,” Coach said. “Remember that your mother and I love you. We always will. Now, I don’t agree with the homosexual lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean we’d ever turn you away.”

“You don’t agree with – what does that even mean?” Eric said. “It doesn’t matter whether you agree or not. It’s just who I am.”

Coach nodded.

“I can see that,” he said. “You’ve always been a little different, I guess.”

“I would say I’m sorry I’m not the son you always wanted – and I probably would have if we’d had this conversation a few years ago,” Eric said. “But I’m not going to apologize for who I am. And no matter what you wanted, I’m the son you have.”

“And a darn fine one, too,” MooMaw said. “Suzanne, you and Rick need to get your heads out of the sand and embrace that young man. He’s brave and smart and he works hard. He’s kind and thoughful. What more do you want?”

“Your mother and I love you, Junior,” Coach said. “That’s our job. But it’s also our job to think about what’s best for you, and you have to know this isn’t an easy way to go through life.”

Eric snorted.

“Since when have I ever done anything the easy way?” Eric asked. “This is why Jack came down here. Because he knew I was going to talk to y’all tonight, and he thought maybe I could use some support. Even though I didn’t ask him. But I’m glad he’s here. Come on, Jack.”

Jack was on his feet almost before Eric.

“Wait – where are you going?” Mama asked.

“Jack and I are going to drive to Atlanta and stay in his hotel room, and we’re going to fly back to Providence tomorrow. I’m going to go back to work, and in August, I’m going to go back to school. If you are planning not to pay for me, please let me know so I can make other arrangements.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jack said.

“Now, don’t be in a hurry to leave,” Coach said. “Of course we’ll support you through school. But you have to think about how this will affect you in the future. How it will affect your friends and teammates. What if people find out that Jack here is palling around with a nancy boy? Jack, you can’t want that.”

“Who I spend time with is my business,” Jack said.

“But what would your teammates think? Or your team management?”

“They were pretty happy when they met Eric,” Jack said. “Most of them said they were glad I finally found a date. They’ve known I’m bisexual for years. Let’s go, Eric.”

**35**

Eric sat staring out of the passenger window of the sedan Jack had rented while he pulled into the driveway to turn around and head back to the interstate.

He kept staring out the window as Jack made his way from the quiet residential street Eric’s parents lived on to the two-lane highway to the on ramp for I-20 west towards Atlanta.

Finally, he turned his head towards Jack and said, “Sorry.”

“There’s no reason for you to be sorry, bud,” Jack said. “I thought you did great. Not your fault your parents handled it badly.”

“Sorry for making you witness that.”

“You didn’t make me do anything. I didn’t even tell you I was coming. My own fault, if you want to call it that. But I’m glad I was there.”

“Me, too,” Eric said, and looked down at his phone, which was vibrating in his hand.

Mama was calling.

He rejected the call and went back to staring out the window.

Jack turned on the radio, softly, tuned to a country station.

A moment later, the phone vibrated briefly. A voicemail.

A few minutes later, she called again. Then again.

“Mama keeps calling,” he said. “Do you think I should answer?”

“I think that’s up to you,” Jack said. “If you need a little time, I think that’s okay.”

The calls stopped, but Mama started texting.

_Please let us know your safe._

Right. Like driving away with his boyfriend was dangerous.

_I’m sorry that went so badly. Please call me._

Not really an apology.

_Come back for breakfast so we can talk._

Like the talk at dinner went so well. Eric almost regretted leaving two pies in the kitchen. But MooMaw deserved dessert after all that.

_You left your earbuds in the kitchen too._

After there was a pause for a few minutes, then his phone buzzed again. It was Coach.

_Call your mother. She’s very worried._

Eric very deliberately set the phone on the center console so he wouldn’t look at it any more.

“They want me to come back for breakfast tomorrow so we can talk more,” he said. “I’m not sure there’s anything else to talk about.”

He paused.

“I mean, it couldn’t have been that much of a surprise, could it? They heard the rumors about me.”

He snorted.

“Now they want me to go back for more humiliation?”

“Nothing that happened was humiliating for you,” Jack finally said. “Your parents should be embarrassed, maybe. Do you want to see them again before we leave?”

“No,” Eric said, then sighed. “I don’t know.”

“We can go back if you want.”

“I know.”

His phone started vibrating again, nearly sliding off the console before Eric caught it. He was about to put Do Not Disturb on when he looked and realized it was MooMaw calling. She must have left shortly after him and Jack if she was home already.

“Hi, MooMaw,” he said.

“Hello, Dicky,” she said. “I wanted to check that you’re alright.”

“About as well as can be expected,” Eric said. “I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be happy with me. That’s why I waited until today. I didn’t want to ruin the whole trip.

“Just like you to be considerate,” she said. “I want you to know you always have a place to stay here, even if your parents are being jackasses.”

“MooMaw!”

“I mean it,” she said. “You and your young man too. He’s quite the looker. And probably a keeper if he came all this way for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. I think so.”

“Well, then, if you’re alright –”

“Mama wants me to come back for breakfast tomorrow,” Eric said. “I’m not sure if I should.”

“It’s probably good that she wants to talk to you,” MooMaw said. “Although you certainly don’t have to. But she does love you – her and your father both. I think with time they’ll come around. If you want them to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean they’re grieving the son they lost – that is, the person they thought you were,” MooMaw said. “It’s not your fault they didn’t see past their own ideas to understand you. But it can be a hard think to find out you’ve been so wrong. And if you cut them off, they might not get a chance to know what a fine man you are. But you don’t owe it to them to put up with their nonsense, especially just now.”

“I guess I’m not feeling especially understanding right now.”

He looked up when he realized Jack was pulling into the hotel lot.

“That’s okay, Dicky-bird,” MooMaw said. “Just promise me you’ll call me every now and then. I miss you.”

“Of course,” Eric said. “Just one minute.”

Jack was holding out a keycard.

“I had them make an extra. Room 518.”

Eric nodded.

“I’m back,” he said. “MooMaw, you know I don’t expect you to avoid my parents, right?”

“I know, dear,” she said. “I wouldn’t anyway. You mother is my daughter, and I love her, even when she’s being wrong-headed.”

“Good,” Eric said.

He thought for a minute. There was a Cracker Barrel right off the highway near Conyers. He did want a chance to leave on better terms after storming away from the table.

“Maybe I can meet them halfway,” he said.


	8. Parts 36-40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of important conversations.

**36**

“Of course I’m going with you. How else are you going to get there?” Jack asked when Eric suggested meeting his parents by himself.

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “Airport shuttle? Uber?”

“I don’t have to sit with you if you want privacy,” Jack said. “But it is the easiest way for you to get there.”

“I know,” Eric said. “But this whole thing is just embarrassing. I feel like I should have this figured out by now.”

Jack shrugged.

“If it’s any help, I never had to come out to my parents,” Jack said. “After the overdose, I was unconscious for a while. When I woke up, they knew. I guess K– my boyfriend told them about us. But it wasn’t such a big deal to them because they were busy, you know, hoping I wouldn’t die. It probably helped set their priorities.”

“That’s, uh, not very comforting,” Eric said. “I’m not prepared to almost die to make this better.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Jack said. “Just, remember that no one’s life is perfect, and no one’s life is easy.”

They’d spent the night curled together in the big hotel bed, Eric sleeping fitfully and apologizing every time he woke up to Jack rubbing gentle circles on his back.

At 7 a.m., Eric said, “We should get up if we’re going to meet them at eight.”

At 7:30, he said, “We should go.”

So Jack drove him back to Conyers. When he parked in the Cracker Barrel lot, he stopped Eric from getting out of the car immediately.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he said. “It’s really fine if you don’t.”

“No, that would just be weird to have you sitting at a different table,” Eric said.

Mama and Coach were already waiting for a table, so they joined them with quiet “Good mornings.”

Mama held out Eric’s earbuds. “I didn’t forget,” she said.

“Thanks, Mama,” Eric said.

When they were shown to a table, Coach asked what time their flights were.

“I made sure to get on Eric’s,” Jack said.

“And he upgraded me to business class,” Eric said, rolling his eyes. “Apparently, economy seats are too small for him, so if we want to sit together, business it is.”

“Anyway, we should be home in plenty of time to get dinner and for Eric to be ready for work tomorrow,” Jack said.

After their server brought coffee and took their orders, Mama took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry we upset you yesterday. I’m not sure what we said or did to make you so angry. But I didn’t want you to go back without making sure you know we love you.”

“You don’t know?” Eric said.

“No, we don’t,” his mother said. “We said we love you. We said we’ll support you through school.”

“You said that if you knew before, you could have fixed this,” Eric said. “Like it’s a flaw in my wiring or something. You said that, even though I know you heard the rumors about me, you thought I couldn’t be gay because one of my friends in elementary school was a girl. You talked about how hard this was going to be, for me and for my team and for Jack. Maybe what you really meant is that it will be hard for you.”

“Maybe it will,” Coach said evenly. “No reason the school board has to keep me on. I doubt they’d say they were firing me because my son is a ho-mo-sexual” – he drew the word out in clear parody of somebody uncomfortable even pronouncing it – “but it won’t make them more inclined in my favor.”

Shit. Coach was probably right about that. Not that anyone in Madison followed collegiate hockey, but they did love to gossip.

“I don’t want you to worry about that, son,” Coach said gently. “It’s just an example of what I was thinking about when I said what I said yesterday. And if we have a winning season, well, then, people won’t care. But that’s the kind of thing that could happen.”

“Dicky, dear, I didn’t mean anything by saying we could fix it,” Mama said. “I just meant – I don’t know what I meant.”

“So you wouldn’t try to make me go – try to make me not gay?”

“I don’t think we could,” she said. “You’re a 21-year-old man, and you’re going to do what you want.”

Well, that wasn’t really an answer.

They stopped talking when their food came. Once the waitress left, Mama went on.

“The important thing is that we love you and you’re always our son, no matter what,” Mama said.

“And I love you, Mama, but if you say you love me, you have to love _me_ ,” Eric said. “Not me-but-straight. Because that person doesn’t exist.”

“That’s what you’re saying, but it’s going to take me a little time to get used to it,” Mama said.

“You shouldn’t take too long,” Jack jumped in. “You should be thrilled with Eric –”

“Jack, hush,” Eric cut him off. “This is hard for them. I know it is. I had three years to get used to being out. They’ve had less than 24 hours.”

“I know, but –”

“But I was really upset yesterday?” Eric said. “I know. I still am. I feel like maybe the family I’ve taken for granted all these years won’t want me anymore, and I feel like it’s my fault, because I’m not the person you always thought I was. And that makes me angry, because I was too scared to tell you before, because I was afraid. And I don’t want to be afraid anymore, but I still am.”

“You shouldn’t have to be afraid,” Jack said.

“I know,” Eric said. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“We are extremely proud of Eric,” Mama said. “Aren’t we, Rick?”

“Of course,” Coach said.

“But we’re scared, too,” Mama said. “About what this means for you, and what you plan to do. And I admit being selfish. Somehow, I don’t think you’re ever coming back here to live, are you?”

“Probably not,” Eric said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You can come visit too.”

“You should see Eric play,” Jack said. “Really.”

**37**

Eric fell asleep on the plane back north.

Jack gently shook him awake when it was time for the plan to start landing, and Eric stretched and said, “You’re right. Business class is more comfortable. I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Eric agreed. “I don’t know when it changed – when home wasn’t home anymore. I mean, I’m looking forward to getting back to my room at the Weavers so I can rest.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “You could stay with me.”

“Yes, I could,” Eric said. “But I’m not going to.”

“Eric –”

“Look, you don’t have to understand it,” Eric said. “You do have to respect my decision, though.”

“I do,” Jack said. “I totally do. But you’re right – I don’t really understand it. Can we at least have dinner?”

“Of course,” Eric said.

Once they got off the plane and retrieved their luggage, Eric said, “If you want to stop at the market for fresh produce, we could just defrost something I made before we left.”

“Is that what you want, bud?” Jack said. “I’m not opposed, but we could just go grab something. I have time to go to the market tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “Maybe that would be better. Lord knows if I get in your kitchen I’ll probably start cooking.”

“Didn’t get enough of that in Georgia?”

“It’s different,” Eric said. “Down there, it’s always Mama’s or MooMaw’s kitchen and I feel like a kid who has to be careful not to make too much mess. You sure you want to take a chance on being seen with me? We were out together before we left.”

“I’m really not worried,” Jack said. “No matter what your father said.”

“I don’t want you to go overboard just because you want to make your point,” Eric said.

“I’m not,” Jack said. “And if we go to my place, I’m not going to want to take you back to the Weavers.”

“Fine,” Eric said. “There’s a little seafood place not far from there.”

When they got there, one of the half-dozen tables was occupied. That group cleared their table and left while Eric was at the counter ordering, the daily fish fry with hush puppies for him, grilled whitefish and veggies, along with a serving of waffle fries for Jack.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Jack said when Eric raised his eyebrows.

It took both of them to carry the baskets to a picnic table in the corner.

“The shrimp po’ boy is supposed to be good, too,” Eric said, sipping his water.

“Maybe next time?” Jack said.

“I guess.”

“You still down about your parents?”

Eric shrugged.

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, it wasn’t great, but they weren’t awful, and it was good we saw them this morning. I guess it’s just kind of a let down, you know? I’ve been worrying about coming out to my parents since I was 17.”

“Not before?” Jack said. “You once told me you knew were gay before you knew what the word meant.”

“I knew I was gay and I knew I would sooner die than have my parents find out,” Eric said. “It wasn’t until I got into Samwell and started thinking about living somewhere else that it even seemed possible. But y’know, I think it’ll be alright. Not like they’re going to advertise it or join PFLAG or anything. It’s still a relief.”

“You’re sure you’re up to working tomorrow?” Jack said. “You haven’t missed a day all summer. Can you take a day to rest?”

“Is this you trying to get me to come back to your place?”

“No,” Jack said. “Although you’re welcome to, of course. But one of the things I’ve learned in therapy is that it’s important to take time to process things.”

“Did you?”

“I found out my parents knew when I was in the hospital after – well, after I overdosed. I spent the next six weeks in rehab, with nothing but time to think and therapy.”

“Ugh. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t be,” Jack said. “I mean, I’m not shouting about it from the rooftops, but you’re important to me. You deserve to know.”

“You think this is for real?” Eric said. “I think I should go to work tomorrow, because I only have three weeks left before I have to move back to Samwell. But I knew the job would end.”

“Samwell’s not that far,” Jack said. “Less than an hour.”

“If you have a car,” Eric said. “It’s just, I’ve already been told to expect more attention this year, with the whole captain thing, and if you’re hanging around the team, people will notice.”

“If they notice, they notice,” Jack said. “We’ve been skating together all summer. No one has cared. Look, I’ve had a good career. I think I’ve got some good years left, but I don’t feel like I have to prove myself anymore. Besides, if nothing else, pretty much everyone is convinced I’m totally boring.”

“They just don’t know you. Your team loves you. I love you.”

**38**

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He had not meant to say that. Maybe Jack hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he thought Eric meant he loved Jack like a friend, like his teammates did.

Jack sat across the table, methodically working his way through the grilled fish and steamed vegetables. Maybe Eric would get away with it after all.

Jack put his fork down and took a gulp of water.

“I do too,” he said. “Love you, I mean. Not me.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

Jack stilled.

“Didn’t mean it?” he said.

“No, no,” Eric said. “I meant it. I mean it. Just, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. It’s way too soon.”

Jack’s shoulders had relaxed, but his eyes were still trained on Eric’s face. Which was probably getting redder by the second.

“Too soon for what?” Jack said.

“To use the L word,” Eric said. “We’ve only even known each other a little over two months. I have to leave to go back to school in a few weeks. You have to decide if you really want to do this, if it’s worth it to you. Even if we try to keep it quiet, there will be rumors if you just hang around me. Coach was right about that.”

“No,” Jack said.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No,” Jack said. “It’s not too soon. Maybe we only met a couple of months ago, but I feel like I know you as well as I know almost anyone. You’ll go back to school and I’ll go back to training camp and sometimes it will suck because we won’t be able to see each other very much. And I have decided. I told you that. It is worth it. And I can live with the rumors, if it means I can have you.”

“Oh.” Eric took a bite of one of his hush puppies.

“If I didn’t make it clear enough, I love you,” Jack said. Then he ate one of his waffle fries.

‘I’m sorry,” Eric said, looking at his plate. “I didn’t mean to –”

“What?” Jack pushed his fries away and reached across the table for Eric’s hand. “No, please don’t be sorry. You just told me you loved me, and it was great, because I love you too. I didn’t know if I could say it or if it would be putting too much pressure on you or anything, and now I can. Why are you apologizing?”

“You seemed mad at me,” Eric said.

“Then I should be apologizing,” Jack said. “For ruining this. I’m not angry – not at you, at least. Frustrated, maybe, because you don’t seem to believe that it’s worth it to me to try to be with you. But I don’t know how to convince you except to go ahead and try. Unless it’s not worth it to you? If someone catches on, well, it would be a lot more attention on you. Your parents probably wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet down in Madison.”

Eric snorted.

“And then all the guys who locked me in a storage closet overnight would be proved right, but it wouldn’t change much, since I’m sure they still think I’m gay,” Eric said. “No, I want this with you. But I don’t want you to regret it. I don’t want you to wake up one day and look at me and wonder why you ever thought this was a good idea.”

“I won’t,” Jack said. “I know it’s not easy – believe me, I know. It won’t be easy. Even without people saying anything, we’re both going to be really busy, and it’s not like we have a long time together to fall back on. But I want to try, if you do.”

“Why?’ Eric asked. “I mean, I know I want to try to. But you’re Jack Zimmermann. You could probably have anyone you wanted. Why me?”

“Because,” Jack said, “you’re you. You’re warm and kind and brave and smart and a hell of a hockey player. You left your home to find a place where you could be yourself, and you work so hard. You’re beautiful – to look at, but also to be with. You make everything warm, and fun, and right.”

Eric’s face was burning – had been burning – but he squeezed Jack’s hand and pulled back to wipe at the tears that threatened to spill.

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” he finally said. “We’re really doing this?”

“We’re really doing this,” Jack said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

**39**

Jack pulled up a half-block from the Weavers’ house.

“Let me kiss you goodnight here,” Jack said, leaning over the center console.

Eric lifted his face to meet him.

Jack put the car back into gear to deliver Eric to his door.

“Tuesday night? Dinner?” Jack said.

“Of course,” Eric said. “Your turn to pick a place.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “Good luck at work tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Eric said. “You have a good day too. I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Eric said, feeling his heart lift a bit at the pink he saw in Jack’s cheeks under the dome light.

It went a long way towards making him feel that he hadn’t messed everything up. Or, rather, that he’d botched the whole love confession but it would be alright in the end anyway.

“How was your trip, Eric?” Mrs. Weaver asked as Eric passed the kitchen. It looked like she was making cookies. Which were slightly overdone as she pulled them from the oven. “Would you like some cookies?”

“No, thank you,” Eric said. “I stopped for dinner on the way back from the airport.”

“Alright,” Mrs. Weaver said. “They’ll be right here in this container on the counter if you decide you want some.”

“Thanks,” Eric said. “Maybe later.”

Then he went to his room, dropped his duffel bag and closed the door. He flopped face down on the bed and hit the contact button for Lardo.

“Hey, Bits, how was your trip? I wasn’t actually expecting to hear from you tonight, after being apart from Jack for a week.”

“He just dropped me off,” Eric said.

“An act of incredible self-control on your part,” Lardo said.

“As always,” Eric said. “But we were together last night.”

“You came back early?”

“He came to Georgia.”

“You invited him to Georgia? Meeting the parents already?”

“I didn’t exactly invite him,” Eric said.

“So he just showed up on your parents’ doorstep out of the blue?”

“Pretty much.”

“I gotta say, Bitty, I’m not too sure about that.”

“No, I know,” Eric said. “He knew I was going to come out to my parents that night and he thought I’d need the support, and he said he was already on the plane before he realized maybe he should have asked.”

“Wait — you came out to your parents? How did that go?”

“Well, let’s just say I was glad to have Jack there after all.”

“Oh, Bitty, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Eric said. “They didn’t disown me or anything, and they both made sure to say they still love me. But it’s like they love me even though I’m gay. It seemed like Mama was trying figure out what went wrong, and Coach just focused on how me being gay will make things so much harder – not just for me, but for basically everybody I know. Even Jack. Like hanging out with me would make people think Jack is gay.”

“Do they know?”

“Now they do,” Eric said. “You should have seen the look on Coach’s face when Jack said he was my boyfriend. Almost made it all worth it.”

“You don’t think they’ll cause problems for Jack?”

“No, they won’t,” Eric said. “They’re not evil. They’re trying to be supportive. They’re just not very good at it.”

“If you say so,” Lardo said.

“Anyway, I left with Jack that night and stayed in the hotel with him,” Eric said. “Then we met my parents for breakfast this morning just to make sure we were all okay. We flew home – business class is worth it, let me tell you – and got dinner, and then I managed to just blurt out that I loved Jack, and I made such a mess of it.”

“How can you make a mess of telling someone you love them?”

“‘Oh, Jack, you’re not boring. Your teammates love you, and so do I.’ Something like that. Only imagine it over hush puppies and waffle fries.”

“Okay, so not the most romantic speech in the world,” Lardo said. “But, you know, effective, to the point. Direct. Just like your boyfriend.”

“Maybe,” Eric said “There’s just so many more romantic ways to do it. And he started thinking that I didn’t want to be in a relationship because I was asking if he was sure he wanted this … I am so bad at this, Lardo.”

“Do you love Jack?” Lardo said.

“Yes, of course.”

“Did he say he loves you too?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think you’re probably okay. You have to work tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Tell you what,” Lardo said. “I’ll come pick you up at 5 and we can have dinner and you can moon over Jack as much as you want.”

“And I’d say you could moon over Shitty, but he really is much moonier than you.”

“True,” Lardo said.

Work the next day was fine. James was also back in the office for the first time since the Fourth of July, so he was busy catching up on his own work. That left Eric to make the rounds of the people he had come to consider his clients, the members of the Greenhouse who were trying to use social media to engage their various customer bases and audiences.

A few of them basically had it together when he started; for them, it was a matter of looking at the results they were getting and figuring out minor tweaks that would help.

Others were coming along nicely, even generating and posting a few items on their own while he was gone.

And some were just afraid, he decided.

“What if someone complains or nasty things about us?” asked a woman whose project was better labeling of sustainable fish and ways to educate consumers about the problem.

“That depends,” Eric said, although he did wonder who, exactly, was against sustainable fisheries. “Usually, the best advice is to keep getting your own message out and ignore them. Don’t feed the trolls.”

“But you see stories about people being really nasty,” she persisted.

“And you know and I know that it says more about them than about you,” Eric said, “And it’s not worth it to worry about those people if it’s going to stop you from achieving your goal of getting people to understand where their fish came from.”

At the end of the day, he tapped on James’ door frame.

“I’m heading out,” he said.

“Fine,” James said. “I’ve hardly seen you today. How was your time off?”

“Good, I guess,” Eric said. “I, uh, I came out to my parents.”

If James was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“That’s a big step. Everything go okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” Eric said. “Not great, but okay.”

“I’d count that as a victory after my coming-out experience,” James said. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. Have a good night.”

**40**

After his dinner with Lardo, Eric felt lighter.

“My boss came out to me today,” he told her.

“Were you surprised?” Lardo asked.

“That he’s gay? No,” Eric said. “A little that he came out to me. I mean, I think he knew I was gay – I’m pretty publicly out in the office. I guess he is, sort of, too. But he never said anything about it before. Anyway, I told him I came out to my parents last week, and he said he’d tell me his coming out story some time.”

“You didn’t tell him about Jack, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Eric said. “I didn’t even say anything about having a boyfriend. Lord, that still sounds strange to say. I have a boyfriend.”

“That you do,” Lardo said. “I’m happy for you, Bits.”

“You know what? I’m happy for me too,” he said. “And if I haven’t said, I’m happy for you and Shitty, too. How’re things there?”

“Good,” Lardo said. “It’s going to be strange, though, going to New York in September. Even last year, Shitty was less than an hour away. That’s gonna suck. And I’m not taking my car. It would be too expensive to keep it in the city.”

“There’s buses and trains,” Eric said. “Do you know what your schedule will be like?”

“Not yet,” Lardo said. “I probably won’t have class every day, but I’ll need a job too.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Eric said. Because if Shitty and Lardo couldn’t make things work, there was no hope for anyone else.

“At least you and Jack aren’t that far apart,” Lardo said. “But you’re going to be crazy busy between school and hockey.”

“I know,” Eric said. “And it’s not like Jack will just be hanging around waiting for me to have free time. But we’re going to try.”

“Of course you are,” Lardo said. “But don’t be a stranger, okay? You’ll come see me in New York, won’t you?”

“Sure,” Eric said. “As long as you come back to see the boys, too.”

The next evening, Jack picked him up from the stop where he usually caught the bus.

“I know you said it was my turn to pick a place, but I thought we could get take-out and eat at my place,” Jack said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Eric’s worry at that must have showed on his face, because Jack hurried to reassure him. 

“It’s nothing bad,” he said. “I promise. But I don’t want to be overheard.”

After they got their food from the neighborhood Thai place - Eric was pretty sure Jack had a deal where they modified the recipes for him – they say down at the breakfast bar.

“What did you want to tell me?” Eric asked.

“About my ex,” Jack said. “I talked to him today –”

“He’s not giving you problems, is he?”

“No, nothing like that,” Jack said. “It’s just that he’s in the league, too, and even though I trust you completely, I still couldn’t talk about him to you without making sure it was okay.”

Eric nodded. “That makes sense.”

“And I kind of was afraid to talk to you about him because you might think, after what happened with him, that this isn’t worth it,” Jack said. “But being afraid isn’t a good reason not to do something, and you deserve to know.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “You said you never had a really serious relationship with a woman, and you said the rest was what – youthful experimentation and hookups?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And that was true, I think, for me. But my ex was maybe more invested, and I was so wrapped up in my anxiety, and taking too many pills … I knew we were best friends, but I thought that part of it was just physical. But that was probably because I wasn’t willing – or able, really – to think of it as anything else. It was a long time ago, and I’ve grown up a lot. And I think I did tell you I didn’t have the best record with secret relationships.”

“Was it a problem because it was a secret?”

“Not really,” Jack said. “But we … we had a lot of friends in common, and maybe if they knew what was going on, it would have kept us on the same page.”

“Friends in common?” Eric said. “When you were a teenager? And living away from home playing hockey?”

“Yeah, he was a teammate,” Jack said. “And a competitor. We were supposed to go first and second in the draft that year. The only question was what order. Then I ended up unconscious on a bathroom floor. My heart stopped for a couple of minutes. He went first, and two years later, he was winning a Stanley Cup while I was trying to convince people in Providence I wasn’t about to self-destruct again.”

“He went first? And won a Cup?” Eric said. “You’re talking about … Parson?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’re … not friends, really, but friendly now. It took a few years. I was kind of an asshole – I didn’t return his calls until after I hooked on with the Falconers – and I always felt like he was rubbing his success in my face. Like was the hockey heir my dad should have had.”

“What happened?”

“Therapy?” Jack said. “Time? We grew up? It just seemed easier to let the nastiness go. And I do care about him. Always have.”

“But you’re not – You don’t –”

“Want to get back together with him? God, no,” Jack said “I care about him, but we never would have worked together. No, I want to be with you. But there were rumors even then, and if I come out, or get outed, people are going to ask about him, or ask him directly.”

“Is he seeing anyone?” Eric asked.

“Not that I know of. I get the impression he’s a little more active than I was in terms of hooking up, but, you know. Vegas.”

“It’s no Providence,” Eric said.

“You can say that again,” Jack said. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you about him, and give him a heads up about us. Just in case. He said he was happy for me – for us. And that he’ll give you a shovel talk the first time he meets you. He said my parents are too nice to do it.”


	9. Parts 41-45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's summer job draws to a close.

**41**

The rest of the week was blessedly uneventful.

Eric went to work, explained Twitter analytics and how to make Twitter threads and why Instagram was a good place to be. He got up early to run, because preseason conditioning was starting soon; he edited and posted on his vlog; and he planned what he was going to make in Jack’s kitchen.

On Thursday, he made dinner with Jack, who was more than willing to cook on the grill outside while Eric pulled everything else together in the kitchen. On Friday, Jack insisted that Eric accompany him to the building’s fitness center before he baked anything. It only left a few hours before their weekly ice time.

“Um, I have something to ask you,” Jack said, as he worked his way through a set of chest presses.

Eric, working on curls while he cast surreptitious looks at the way Jack’s muscles were bunching and flexing, pulled his mind back from wondering if Jack was going to suggest misbehaving among the free weights. Because that would just be gross. Right? Right.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Um, I’ve been talking about the way you skate to the guys, and Tater wanted to know if maybe he could skate with us?” Jack said. “It wouldn’t have to be on a Friday – we could maybe get time at the practice facility this weekend. But I think he wants to know if you’re as fast as I said. And he’s interested because his mother was a figure skater.”

“Of course, sweetpea,” Eric said. “It’s not like I have to think twice about skating with two NHL players. But no checking, right?”

“Definitely no checking,” Jack said. “I’ll see if I can reserve an hour Saturday afternoon, if that’s alright? After you’re done at the farmer’s market.”

“Sounds good,” Eric said. “I have something to ask you, too.”

“Shoot.”

“I think I have to go to this work gathering again tonight,” Eric said. “Now that they they know I’m off the ice in time. Do you want to come with, as my ride again? Or just drop me there? I know it wasn’t much fun last time.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I was with you.”

“But they were all over you.”

Jack shrugged.

“Do you not want me to come?”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to spend time in a bar drinking crappy beer with people who will go home and spend the weekend telling their friends and neighbors about the celebrity they met,” Eric said. “And do it with a little more glee if they can find something mean to say.”

“Is that really what you think of your coworkers?” Jack asked. “They seemed a little awkward last time, but I’m a little awkward and sometimes that rubs off on people. They weren’t bad.”

“I know,” Eric said. “I guess. It’s just hard. I want to stand up for you, but I don’t want to be too obvious about us, because I don’t want them to get the wrong idea – I mean the right idea, but … you know what I mean.”

“How about this? We go, and you talk to your coworkers, and I hang out for about a half-hour, and I tell you we have to go so I can drop you off.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “You’re sure?”

“Most people think I’m a hockey robot anyway,” Jack said. “It’ll be fine.”

And it was, mostly. They spent 29 minutes at the bar, Eric drinking one bottle of Bud Light, Jack nursing what could have been something alcoholic but was really fizzy water with lime. Eric chatted with the coworkers he liked best about his trip to Georgia – without telling them he came out to his parents – and Jack answered a few questions about hockey. When James approached him about lending his name to any of various causes, Jack brushed him off.

“All that has to go through my agent,” he said. “I can give you his number, if you want. Or give Eric a card.”

Then he collected Eric and they walked out to Jack’s car.

“Maybe not again,” Eric said. “That kind of felt like I was your annoying little brother that you had to drive home.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack said.

Skating with Tater, on the other hand, was great. Tater greeted Eric just as enthusiastically as he had at Marty’s, demanding to know about his figure skating career, commiserating on its untimely end, asking what exercises and skills translated best to hockey.

After several laps to warm up, they ran a few tic-tac-toe passing plays, then played some two-on-one, Jack and Eric against Tater, then Tater and Eric against Jack. When they were done, it was Eric who invited Tater to come over for dinner and blueberry pie.

“Little B, you are amazing!” Tater said around a mouthful of pie. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in years.”

“I can teach you how to make it, if you want,” Eric said.

When Tater went home (“I thought he’d never leave,” Jack said. “He’s your friend,” Eric said. “You’re my boyfriend, and I wanted to get you alone,” Jack said) , Jack said, “There’s something else I want to ask you. Will you come to Montreal with me?”

**42**

“You want me to come to Montreal?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “I told you I wanted to show you the city. And my parents want to meet you.”

“You think they’ll really be okay with –”

“Yes. They want to meet you. If we don’t make plans to go there, they’ll probably come here. Just for a few days?”

Eric had already told James he’d have to leave his job at the end of July, even though he didn’t have to be at Samwell to meet the new frogs and start practices until August 8. He’d originally planned to spend that week getting the Haus in shape, but once he and Jack started dating, he had been hoping to spend at least half the week with Jack. More, maybe, if he could get rides back and forth from Samwell. If he spent those days in Montreal, well, no one need be any the wiser.

“Of course. I’d love to go. It’ll be my first stamp in my passport.”

“You’ve never been out of the U.S.?”

“Jack, until I went to Samwell, I’d never been north of Virginia.”

“No time like the present, then,” Jack said. “Do you want to make plans for what to do, or just play it by ear? I’m sure Maman and Papa will want to spend some time with us, but we can get away on our own too.”

“Maybe some of both?” Eric said. “It’s your city. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Jack pulled Eric into his arms and settled with him on the couch.

“I haven’t actually lived in Montreal since I was 16,” he said. “But it’s where I grew up, and where my parents have lived since my father retired. It’s a great city.”

They spent a quiet Sunday, going for a morning run and spending more time in the fitness center before Eric spent a couple of hours experimenting with a maple glaze for roasted chicken.

Mrs. Weaver was in the kitchen again when Eric returned, this time looking frustrated with pastry. Eric considered just passing through, but he didn’t have it in him to abandon someone to refrigerated pie crust, which was where this looked like it was headed.

“What do you have there?” Eric asked.

“Oh, you’re back,” Mrs. Weaver said. “It almost feels unfair to charge you rent by the month when you’re only here half the time.”

“I made friends faster than I expected,” Eric said. “And they let me use their kitchen, so …”

“That’s right, you make pie,” Mrs. Weaver said. “Do you make your own crust?”

“Of course,” Eric said. “I’ve been making pie crust since I was little.”

“I don’t know how anyone does this,” she said, looking at the crumbly mess on the counter in front of her.

“Well, it looks like that’s overworked, so there’s no saving it,” Eric said. “But if you have more ingredients, I’ll show you an easy recipe. You have butter and shortening in the fridge?”

“Shortening doesn’t need to be refrigerated,” Mrs. Weaver said.

“It does if it’s going in pie crust,” Eric said. “It needs to be cold. Put it in now, and we’ll clean this up.”

The two of them worked companionably enough, and Mrs. Weaver was placing her clean mixing bowl back on the counter when she said, “It was silly of me to say you couldn’t use the kitchen, wasn’t it? I just wanted this part of the house to myself, I guess, and I couldn’t see the kitchen mattering to a young man like you. Our nephew lived here when he was in school, and he barely knew how yo work the microwave.”

“Yes, it was silly,” Eric said. “But I found a kitchen to use. I’m pretty good at that.”

“So is the kitchen the only attraction at your friend’s place?”

Eric didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, good looking boy like you,” she said. “And you have been real considerate about letting us know when you won’t be here. You’d be just my nephew’s type, too.”

“My mama would have my head if I didn’t let you know,” Eric said. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m gay?”

“I didn’t,” Mrs. Weaver. “I said you were my nephew’s type, not the other way around. But I have seen a very handsome man dropping you off a couple of times. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Mr. Weaver, if you don’t want me to.”

“The shortening should be cold enough now,” Eric said. “I don’t mind about people knowing I’m gay, not really, but my – my boyfriend, he’s not out.”

He started cubing the butter and shortening. “You want your fats to stay cold,” he said, “and it’s easier to cut them in if they’re in small pieces.”

He watched her cut the butter into the flour mixture they’d made.

“I worry sometimes that just hanging out with me will cause problems for him, if people know I’m gay,” he said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Mrs. Weaver said. “You young people are much better about things like that than when I was young. And what business is it of anyone’s anyway?”

“That’s what I tell myself,” Eric said. “But I’d hate for him to be hurt by this.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

Eric made a face.

“He’s getting tired of hearing about it. He says it’s worth the risk.”

“Do you think he’s thought about it? Or is he just saying that?”

“He’s pretty serious,” Eric said.

“Then maybe you should listen to him.”

They only talked about pie as they finished the rest of the crust. Once it was in the oven, Eric said goodnight.

“I have to be up early tomorrow to run before work,” Eric said. “Thanks for the talk.”

“I know you have your friend’s place,” she said. “But you are welcome to use this kitchen the rest of the time you’re here.”

**43**

Eric’s last two weeks at work passed quickly.

He congratulated himself on the job he’d done as he monitored the Greenhouse’s members’ accounts and saw regular tweets (“You really want to Tweet at least once a day. No, that’s not too much. And you can set them up in advance.’) and Instagram posts that showed off the work they did. They were even using Facebook to better effect, and any accounts that had no activity for more than a couple of months had been taken down or made private. (“You really don’t want people to look up you account and see something with snow on the ground in the summer. They’ll either think you closed up and forgot the account, or that you your disorganized and don’t know how to do this. I know you’re all really busy, and none of you learned how to handle social media in school, but you’re supposed to make it look easy. Like a conversation. And you can’t have a conversation if you’re not saying anything.”)

His last few days were spent compiling analytics for each of the Greenhouse members he’d worked with, providing them to the members, and making one big report for James. He also scheduled Tweets for the two weeks after he left for the main Twitter account and a couple of Instagram posts a week for the first month.

“Are you ready to take control?” Eric asked, after outlining what he’d done on his last afternoon. “Feel free to take out some of my tweets and substitute your own, or just add your own in if you have news to share. Be ready to pick up where I left off – even make some early and schedule them.”

“I think so,” James said. “Just keep tweeting, right?”

“Well, yes,” Eric said. “As long as the tweets communicate the mission of the Greenhouse in a professional but fun way. No misspellings, be nice, you know.”

“I do,” James said. “And I have to say I’ve been very pleased with your work here this summer. I don’t know that we’ll be in a position to hire someone full-time for communications when you graduate, but if we could, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”

“Well, thanks,” Eric said. “I’m glad I could help. You have people here doing some really interesting things, and if I could help them get the attention they needed, that’s good. I suppose that means I can count on you as reference?”

“Absolutely,” James said. “I also wanted to ask if you might be available for a few hours at a time during the school year. We’d be happy to see you, of course, but maybe you could do some work remotely.”

“I don’t really know if I can,” Eric said. “I’ll have my thesis to do, and I don’t even have a topic yet, and I’m captain of the team this year, and I have no idea what I’m doing when I graduate.”

It also could cut into his baking time, and his Jack time. Then again, it could make it easier to explain trips to Providence.

“But the money would be nice,” he amended. “If I can work it around my schedule.”

“Of course,” James said. “You’re coming to the pub tomorrow, right? The rest of the staff wants to give you a little send-off.”

“Oh, uh, of course,” Eric said. He’d been hoping to have the evening to spend alone with Jack, because by Saturday night they would be in Montreal (in a totally different country), in Jack’s parents house, and no matter how much Jack said his parents were fine with it, Eric couldn’t imagine getting up to anything while Jack’s parents slept down the hall. It was fine. He could leave around seven, say he had dinner plans. It wouldn’t do to blow off people he might still be working with.

“And one last thing,” James said. “I’d be pleased if you would come to dinner with me, to thank you for all the hard work you’ve put in.”

“I can’t,” Eric said. “I have dinner plans tomorrow night. With the people I skate with.”

“I suppose I can’t compete with professional athletes,” James said. “But what about tonight? We’re just about to wrap up here. We could get a drink and make it an early dinner.”

Well, fuck. That sounded like a date. But it couldn’t be. James was in his 30s, Eric was nearly positive. And he just invited Eric to keep working for him. Crap. Would the offer still be open if Eric said no?

“I can’t,” Eric said.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” James said, clearly reading Eric’s expression. “Just an evening with a coworker.”

But James wasn’t his coworker. He was his boss, and Eric was starting to wonder how many people were left in the office.

“No, it’s just, I’ve been helping my landlady with her baking and I promised her that I’d show her how to make a pie crust tonight,” Eric improvised. “I’m leaving on the weekend, so it’s really her last chance to get it right. No hard feelings?”

“Well, I know I can’t compete with _baking_ , either,” James said, giving a small smile. “Of course, no hard feelings. I’ll email you about work you can do from Samwell, alright.”

“Thanks,” Eric said. “And thanks for the opportunity this summer. It’s been a real learning experience.”

**44**

“He likes you,” Jack said.

“Well, I should hope so,” Eric said. “He was my boss for the last 10 weeks, and he’s willing to hire me again.”

“No, I mean he _likes_ you,” Jack said. “And you work for him –”

“Not technically, at the moment.”

“– and he made you uncomfortable.”

Eric handed the plate he was washing Jack to dry.

“But as soon as he realized what it sounded like, he said it wasn’t like that. He was just being friendly.”

“Or keeping himself out of trouble,” Jack said, wiping the plate and setting it in the cabinet.

“What trouble?” Eric said. “I’m of age, it was the end of my job there – I don’t have to keep working for the Greenhouse – and even if I wanted to complain, who would I complain to? It’s not like it’s a big company with an HR department and all.”

“He was your boss,” Jack said. “He just offered you more work. That’s a power differential, and could make you feel like if you refused his advances he’d stop employing you.”

“You sound like Shitty,” Eric said. “The fact is, when I refused his advances, as you said, he reassured me that he didn’t mean it like that.”

He drained the sink and turned to look at Jack. Jack draped his damp towel over the lip of the sink.

“But you thought he was making a move on you,” Jack said. “You should trust your instincts.”

“Like when I thought you were straight?” Eric said. “I couldn’t even tell when you were flirting with me. Why wouldn’t I be wrong about this?”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jack said.

“I’m not going to worry about it,” Eric said. “He was fine with me saying no to dinner tonight, and having work with the Greenhouse will give me a reason to come to Providence every weekend I’m free. I know our relationship isn’t totally secret, but it won’t be secret at all if all of my team knows. I haven’t even met the new frogs yet. And it will help me get a job – if not with them, probably somewhere near here – when I graduate.”

“I know,” Jack said. “Just – be careful, okay? Sometimes guys like this can be clever and manipulative. Maman talked a lot about the way some Hollywood people treat women – she used to say that marrying my dad came in handy, because no one would try anything then. And I know you don’t have much experience dating, and you could look really vulnerable to him.”

“Jack, I’m captain of a hockey team,” Eric said. “They’d all have my back.”

“I know that, but I don’t think James is an athlete,” Jack said.

“True,” Eric said. “Look, I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“I know,” Jack said. “But would it be okay if I stayed at the pub with you tomorrow? Just as your ride?”

The next day’s skate felt bittersweet to Eric. It was their last reserved ice time of the summer, just the two of them. Jack was all encouragement, complimenting Eric on how far he’d come in the last couple of months.

“Wow,” Jack said, as Eric used Jack’s mass to his advantage, pushing off him and putting several feet in between them in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t even really check you before you got away. When we started, it was good when you could stay on your feet.”

Eric knew his face was pink with the praise, but he grinned as he pushed the puck back and forth.

“Wanna play little keep away?” he asked.

“You’re on,” Jack said, and Eric took off.

After a couple of minutes, Jack finally corralled Eric in the corner. Instead of scooping the puck away, he leaned in so their helmets were touching and said, “Kinda gives new meaning to playing hard-to-get, doesn’t it?”

“Only when it comes to hockey,” Eric said. “For you, I’m easy.”

Jack looked surprised for a fraction of second, but that was all it took for Eric to slip around him and take off with the puck again.

Later, when they walked into the pub, Eric headed directly to the back corner where the Greenhouse people were, and Jack followed..

James stood to greet Eric and said, “Let me be the first to buy you a beer..”

“That’s okay,” Jack said. “I’ll get a round for the table. What’s everyone drinking?”

By the time the waitress had replenished everyone’s drink, Eric was surrounded by coworkers congratulating him on the extension to his job.

“We’re really the lucky ones,” Shelly was saying. “You really made a difference for us this summer.”

Jack stood to the side, watching Eric bask in the attention.

“He’s a great kid.”

Jack turned to see that James was standing next to him.

“Well, not really a kid,” James said. “He’s got a future in communications.”

“Seems like something he’d be good at,” Jack acknowledged.

“Probably not going to be a professional hockey player,” James went on.

“Probably not,” Jack agreed. “But the idea’s not as far fetched as you think. He’s one of the fastest guys I’ve ever skated with.”

“I know he’s been skating with you every week,” James said. “And I can tell he really likes you.”

“And I like him,” Jack said.

“Just don’t let him get the wrong idea,” James said. “You don’t want him to get his hopes up and then have to crush him. That would just be cruel.”

“I think Eric and I are on the same page,” Jack said. “He knows I would never try to manipulate him.”

**45**

“What was that all about?” Eric asked, settling into the passenger seat of Jack’s truck.

He was feeling a little tipsy – definitely not all the way drunk, but his upper lip was a little tingly, which always told him he was starting to feel the effects of alcohol. Well, if his propensity to giggle hadn’t already warned him.

“All what?” Jack asked, eyes glued to the road.

Eric was certain Jack was not tipsy. Not even a little. He took his designated driver duties seriously, and almost never had even one drink when they want out. Come to think of it, he rarely had more than one – or at most two – when they stayed in.

“All the looming,” Eric said. “And the glowering. At James. Like you were trying to in– intim– scare him.”

“I didn’t threaten him,” Jack said.

“Okay,” Eric said. “But you stood straight up with your arms crossed across your chest –” Eric crossed his arms to demonstrate “– with your muscles and everything.”

Eric looked at his own arms, which definitely did not have muscles like Jack’s, and giggled.

That drew a glance from Jack, and a soft smile.

“Were you looking at my muscles?” Jack asked. “Do they look as good as yours?”

“Silly boy,” Eric said. “My muscles are nothing like yours.”

They drove in silence for a moment before Eric said, “James would never be scared of me.”

“That’s mighty foolish of him,” Jack said.

“I don’t think I want him to be,” Eric said. “But sometimes I feel like he thinks I’m like a kid. I mean, not childish, I don’t think. But weak. Or maybe not that, really. Not strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Then he’s wrong,” Jack said. “You’re plenty strong.”

“Silly boy,” Eric said, his voice suffused with fondness. “But I am stronger than people think. I think.”

“I think you’re right,” Jack said. “What do you say we go home and heat up something from the freezer for dinner? We have an early day tomorrow.”

Eric groaned.

Tomorrow Jack was coming with him to the Weavers’ to pick up the things he still had there. Then they would drive them up to the Haus, where Eric could drop them off and make sure he had everything he needed to leave for Montreal the next day. They’d be flying out of Logan at 10:30 in the morning; Jack said he nearly always flew from Logan when he went to see his parents because Air Canada had several nonstop flights from Boston to Montreal each day.

When they made the plan, Eric said they could sleep at the Haus if Jack wanted, since it was closer to Boston.

“But only if you really want to experience the true frat house aesthetic,” Eric said. “Complete with a lumpy twin bed and a smell that never completely goes away.”

“Maybe it’s worth the 45 minutes home,” Jack said.

“I completely agree,” Eric said. “And not only because I won’t get so many chances to sleep in that big bed of yours once school starts. You’ve ruined me for other beds.”

Jack had grinned at that, and murmured something along the lines of, “That’s good.”

Eric woke up in that big bed with the soft sheets and the fluffy duvet before the sun was too high on Saturday morning. Even before opening his eyes, he knew he was alone; he couldn’t feel the warmth of Jack at his side, or hear his breath with its cute little snuffles while he slept. But Eric did hear the the rattle of dishes in the kichen (dishwasher being emptied, not cooking) and smell coffee brewing.

He was still stretching himself fully awake when Jack opened the door, bearing a mug.

“You’re up,” Jack said. “I was coming to wake you. We should probably get to the Weavers pretty soon.”

“Okay,” Eric agreed, sitting up and reaching for the coffee. It was delicious, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. Which both were now regularly stocked in Jack’s kitchen. “This is good.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “Peanut butter bagels for breakfast in the kitchen.”

“I can cook,” Eric said.

“I know you can,” Jack said. “But we should get moving, and we shouldn’t eat eggs every day.”

Eric decided he saw the logic.

“Fine,” he said. “But if I have to get up now, I expect an early bedtime tonight. For both of us.”

“No argument here,” Jack said.

Packing up his things at the Weavers didn’t take long – all of his kitchen equipment and his video equipment had been at Jack’s all summer. Mrs. Weaver was out, and Mr. Weaver showed no interest when Eric walked through the front door and said, “This is my friend Jack.”

With Jack to help carry boxes out, they were done by lunchtime. Eric removed the Weavers’ key from his ring and followed Jack out.

Sitting in the passenger seat, looking at Jack, he remembered their conversation from the night before.

“Were you really trying to intimidate James last night?” he asked as Jack pulled onto 95 to head north.

“Trying to?” Jack said.

“Yes, trying to. Because whether you wanted to or not, I think you succeeded.”

“Maybe?” Jack said.

“But you’re not usually like that. You were so nice to Ernesto, and –”

“Ernesto?”

“The motor club guy? Who unlocked Lardo’s trunk for me? And all the doormen in your building love you, and I’ve seen when fans approach you. You’re usually really patient. You were patient with James before last night, too. You’re not still worried about when he invited me to dinner, are you?”

“Not really worried,” Jack said. “As I said last night, you can take care of yourself. But I don’t like that he made you uncomfortable. You don’t know what he would have done if you went along with him. I don’t like people who take advantage of people they think are vulnerable.”

“Would you have acted the same if we weren’t dating?” Eric asked.

“I think so,” Jack said. “I mean, it would be easier to be sure he’d back off if I just said you were my boyfriend–”

“And then made him sign an NDA?”

“That would complicate things,” Jack said. “But even if you were just my friend, I think it would bother me. If you were my friend or a teammate or something, I’d have your back.”


	10. Parts 46-50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Eric visit Montreal

**46**

“Hello?” Eric called as he opened the door to the Haus.

There was no answer.

“Hello?” he called again, louder. “It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone here.”

Eric carried in a box, shouldering the door aside for Jack.

“We can take these things right upstairs.”

Jack followed him, looking around with interest. His eyes touched on the TV – the only thing that was kind of new, along with gaming consoles that were attached to it. But they also swept over the nuclear waste dump of a couch, the stained rugs, the dust that had collected on the windowsills and in the corners.

They started up the stairs, Eric glad that Jack’s hands were full so that he couldn’t touch the handrail, which was almost definitely sticky. He almost jumped when Jack stepped on the creaky seventh step; everyone who lived in the Haus knew it was there and avoided it as a matter of course.

“In here,” Eric said, setting down his box to unlock his door.

The room was neater than the rest of the Haus. Heck, it was neater than it usually was when he was in school. The bed was made and the desk was clear, and the clothes he left there were all folded into drawers or hung in the closet.

“Just put that over there,” Eric said, indicating a corner. “I’ll unpack when I move back.”

They made two more trips, and Eric took a few minutes to grab a gray button-down shirt and his favorite red bow-tie, clothes he saved for special occasions. A pair of his work trousers would have to do to meet Jack’s parents; he didn’t have any better ones that fit.

“You really don’t need to bring dressy clothes,” Jack said. “We’re only going to be there three days, and we don’t have to go anywhere fancy.”

“But your parents, Jack,” Eric said. “I want to make a good impression.”

“You don’t have to dress up to do that,” Jack said. “They’ll love you no matter what you wear.”

Eric folded the clothes into a small duffel anyway.

“What else do I need?” he asked. “Swimsuit? Shorts?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “T-shirts. Oh, and skates.”

“Skates?”

“I’m sure we can find a pair that would fit you, but you’d rather have your own, right?”

“Well, yeah, but then we have to check bags,” Eric said.

“So?”

“That gets expensive.”

“It’s free in business class.”

Eric thought that one day, he would discuss the meaning of the word “free” with Jack, but for the moment, he just nodded.

“My skates are at your place.”

“What about your figure skates? You want those as well?”

“You want me to bring my figure skates?”

“No, I asked if you wanted to bring them,” Jack said. “My dad is part owner of a rink, and it’s usually closed to the public for a chunk of each day. So there would be time.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “I guess I’d like the chance to practice.”

He dug his figure skates out of the closet and added them to the duffel.

Then he pushed Jack toward the (small and lumpy) bed.

“I have no idea when the guys who are staying here this summer will be be home,” he said. “So we probably shouldn’t take this too far. But I’d like to have some good memories of you here when school starts.”

They only made out for a little while, because Eric was afraid Nursey or Dex would come home, realize he was there and start pounding on his door, and because if they went on any longer, neither he nor Jack would want to keep their clothes on.

They got up, and Eric straightened his shirt and ran a comb through his hair.

“Ready?” Jack asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Eric said.

“C’mon,” Jack said. “No one’s going to walk in on us at my place.”

They made the drive back to Providence hand-in-hand, but as soon as they entered Jack’s condo, his phone rang. It was the doorman; Tater was in the lobby. He had something for Eric.

“I’ll get rid of him,” Jack said.

“You know he’s already on the way up,” Eric said.

“I know,” Jack said.

“And you know what it will look like if you try to get him out of here before he’s ready.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I don’t care.”

“Jack Zimmermann, Tater is your friend and you will be a good host,” Eric said, opening the fridge to see what they could serve Tater.

When Tater arrived, he was bearing one of his own number 7 jerseys, in a size that wouldn’t have fit him since he was a young boy.

“This is for you,” he said, thrusting in the jersey at Eric. “You can wear it sometimes to games, yes?”

Eric took it, amused at the dark look on Jack’s face.

Tater saw it too, because he hurried to say, “Just so you don’t always wear Zimmermann jersey. So maybe people won’t notice as much.”

“That’s a real nice thought,” Eric said. “But I don’t have a Zimmermann jersey.”

“I was going to give you one,” Jack said. “Before you actually leave for school.”

“That’s right, you have a few days with Jack’s parents,” Tater said. “Say hello for me.”

“We will, Tater,” Jack said. “Was there anything else? Because –”

“Tater, would you like something cool to drink?” Eric broke in.

“No, thank you, Bitty,” Tater said. “I do have something else to give you. I got my mother’s recipe for syrniki. Maybe you can make them?”

Jack all but growled.

“Not now,” Tater said. “But sometime.”

Eric looked at the handwritten recipe.

“Did you translate this yourself?” he said. “This looks like kind of a cheese pancake, but I’d want to look into what kind of ingredients would be the closest match. Are they breakfast or dessert?”

“Depends on toppings.”

“Well, let’s have them for brunch one day, maybe before your training camp starts. It’ll be fun.”

“Thanks, Bitty,” Tater said. “I’ll go now. Have fun!”

At Eric’s red face, he added, “I meant on your trip! Have fun on your trip!”

Which really didn’t help at all.

**47**

Alicia Zimmermann was nothing like Eric expected.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Eric knew what she looked like, of course.

But if he hadn’t known it who it was picking them up at Trudeau International, he would have taken a few moments to place her. There was the blond hair, of course, not showing a sign of grey, but it was pulled back into a simple ponytail that was pulled through the hole in the back of a plain blue baseball cap. She wore a plaid button-down shirt open over a tee, and light khaki trousers, and any makeup wasn’t obvious. The outfit wasn’t much different than something Eric’s own mother would have worn.

Her dark blue Subaru was even more understated than Jack’s Audi, but it was new and immaculate. She didn’t get out of the car when she pulled up in the passenger pick-up zone to collect them, but she flashed a bright smile and said, “Hello, Jack. You’re Eric, of course. Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here.”

Eric climbed into the back seat and sat as close to the edge as the seat belt would allow.

“Thanks so much for having me, Mrs. Zimmermann,” Eric said. “My Mama would be so thrilled to know I was meeting you, let alone staying in your home!”

Jack settled into the front seat and his mother pulled away from the curb, navigating onto a highway. She asked about their flight, and what Eric wanted to do during his three days in Montreal, and what Jack wanted to show him, and about 20 minutes later she was turning into a driveway that ran alongside a big red-brick house with a wooden porch that wrapped around from the front to the back. She parked on the drive and got out of the car.

Eric got out the other side and watched as she came around to hug Jack. Any thought that she was dressed kind of like Mama fell out of his head. Sure, the clothes were casual enough, but the way they fit, and the way she moved? She clearly functioned on a different plane.

Then she was turning to Eric and embracing him. The hug was brief but warm, and then she stepped back. “Ready to meet Jack’s father? I told him he had to wait until we got into the house.”

Eric wanted to look at everything on the way in: the furniture on the wraparound porch, the sunroom that jutted out from the back of the house, the yard ringed with flowering shrubs and a huge open area in the middle.

But as soon as Jack shouldered the door open, Bad Bob Zimmermann was there in, the mudroom.

“Jack, put those down -- we can get them later. Where’s Eric?”

As soon as he caught sight of Eric, following Alicia into the house, he engulfed him in a hug.

“We’re so glad you came,” he said. “Jack’s been talking about you all summer. He couldn’t stop talking about you when he visited – did you bring your figure skates? – and we wanted to make sure you know you’re welcome. You must be excited about your new season – you’re captain, yes? – and you bake! I tried to bake something to have when you got here, but, well –”

Well, that would explain the smell. Burnt chocolate and lavender air freshener, which totally made it it worse.

“ – I got distracted for a moment, and it didn’t work out.”

He paused – maybe just for breath – and Eric plunged in.

“What was it going to be? Something chocolate?”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Bob said.

“Well, those can be a bit unforgiving when it comes to timing. Do you have what you need for another batch? I’d be happy to make some for y’all.”

“Eric, you don’t have to –” Alicia started.

“–bake for y’all? I really don’t mind. I’m sure if Jack talked about me as much as you said, you know that,” Eric said.

He saw Jack mouth the words “Told you,” to his mother as Bob said, “Let me show you to the kitchen.”

What a kitchen it was. The Viking oven, the granite countertops, the deep sinks. The island with the butcher block surface and its own sink. The SubZero fridge. No wonder Jack didn’t realize how great the kitchen in his condo was.

He found the dry ingredients and butter already out.

“I was using the recipe from the back of the chocolate chip package,” Bob said. “Is that all right?”

“It’s actually a pretty good basic recipe,” Eric said. “Except – do you have any shortening? I know the recipe on the package just calls for butter, but you get a prettier cookie with a better texture if you use half butter and half shortening.”

“I think so,” Bob said. “Jack sent a shopping list of baking supplies.”

“It doesn’t need to be refrigerated,” Eric said.

“Then in the pantry,” Bob said, opening a tall cabinet.

The Crisco bars were in the front of a pull-out shelf. There was also baking powder, bread flour, cake flour, whole wheat flour, confectioners sugar, molasses, corn syrup, cinnamon, nutmeg and other spices, cream of tartar, tapioca, cornstarch, almond extract …

“Oh my Lord,” Bitty said. “You went all out.”

“I’m pretty sure Jack just sent a list of what he had in in his kitchen,” Bob said. “But I wasn’t sure how to organize it.”

“There’s no way I’ll be use all this in the next four days,” Eric said.

“We didn’t get as much of the perishable stuff,” Bob said. “But Alicia did bring home a lot of blueberries yesterday. All of this should last until you come back, I think. And maybe I can learn how to use some of it?”

So this was a thing. Eric was going to teach Bad Bob Zimmermann to bake. Starting with the chocolate chip cookies he learned to bake from MooMaw when he was five.

“The first think you want to do is put the butter and the shortening in your mixer and beat it like so,” Eric started.

**48**

Late that evening, Eric curled up against Jack in the queen-size bed.

“Did you and your dad plan that?” he asked. “To make me more comfortable?”

“I don’t know, bud,” Jack said, his lips brushing the hair on the top of Eric’s head. “Did it work?”

“Hush, you,” Eric said.

“My dad suggested that he would bake for you,” Jack said. “He figured you’d see how much better you could do it. The ruining the cookies? That was all him. And probably not on purpose.”

Eric smiled into Jack’s chest. “I’m glad I could help.”

“So are my folks,” Jack said. “And probably all the neighbors. How many dozen cookies did we end up with?”

“Nine, I think. The original ones, and then we did a batch with oatmeal-chocolate chip, and we did one with cranberries and walnuts.”

“You didn’t have to do so much,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry,” Eric said, pushing himself up an elbow so he could see Jack’s face. “If you had plans for this afternoon I ruined them all, didn’t I?”

“No,” Jack said. “You didn’t. We have until Wednesday to explore. And I wanted my parents to get a chance to get to know you. Figures baking would be a good way to do that.”

“Because it worked for us?”

“I think I ate your baking before I watched you bake,” Jack said. “And honestly, maybe if it had been the other way around I would have been a little bit terrified.”

Eric snorted at that – Jack, he was pretty sure, had a competence kink the size of Canada.

But he said, “And we skated.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t work here because Maman doesn’t know how to skate.”

“She doesn’t? How? I mean, even if she wasn’t related to you, she lives in Canada. I thought kids here skate to school every day.”

“Haha. She grew up in the States.”

Jack squirmed his shoulders to get more comfortable, and Eric nestled his head into crook of Jack’s neck.

“I don’t know why she never learned,” Jack said. “I’m not sure why Papa never taught her before I was born – they dated for a few years – and when I was little, I would always ask her to skate with us, and she’d just say ‘That ship has sailed.’

“I think she thought it was good for Papa and I to have something just for us,” Jack continued. “He was still playing, and she didn’t work much for a few years, so it was just Maman and I a lot of the time. She thought we needed to work harder on developing our own relationship.”

“When you were four or five?” Eric asked, keeping his head down and tracing the lines on Jack’s abs delicately with his fingertip. It was easier, he’d learned, for Jack to talk sometimes when he didn’t feel eyes on him. From Jack’s position, it felt like Jack was staring straight up at the ceiling. Maybe admiring the crown molding.

“Well, that he should work harder at having a relationship with me,” Jack said. “But a lot of that I didn’t really understand until we were in family therapy together, and I wasn’t a kid anymore.”

“I think you’re always a kid to your parents,” Eric said. “At least you’re still their kid.”

Jack’s arm tightened around Eric’s shoulders, and his head shifted down so Eric could feel Jacks breath in his hair.

“You’re still your parents’ kid,” Jack said.

“I know,” Eric said. “Even if I’m not the kid they thought they had. Or if I am the kid they were afraid they had, I guess.”

Jack pushed and pulled with his arms until Eric was settled on top of him, his head resting in the middle of Jack’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “Your parents love you. They’re just getting used to a new reality.”

“But it’s not new,” Eric said, lifting his head so he could see Jack. “I’ve always been gay.”

“New to them,” Jack said. “And yeah, they had kind of a shitty reaction to the news. But to them, it was news. And I think they want to do better.”

Eric put his head down again.

“Do you think I should have been nicer to them?” he said.

“No,” Jack said. “I’m not saying any of this is your fault. It’s not. I’m just saying they love you, despite how everything went in Georgia. And you shouldn’t think you’re not lovable, or anything like that. And it’s up to you to decide how you want to interact with them now. But I think they want to get it together, and maybe they will. Especially with MooMaw working on them.”

Jack was rubbing slow circles onto Eric’s back.

“After my overdose, I was so angry,” he said. “I was angry at everyone. At myself, mostly, for destroying everything I’d worked for, at Kent, at my coaches, at hockey in general.”

Eric almost laughed at that.

“And at my parents,” Jack said. “A lot.”

“Because they should have known how bad things were for you?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “But also for not fixing me before I went off to Rimouski. For giving me a brain and a body that didn’t work right. For having me at all.”

“For a body that didn’t work right?” Eric scoffed.

“Yes,” Jack said. “I can play hockey, but when I get an anxiety attack it’s like everything goes haywire.”

Eric nodded. He’d never seen Jack in a full-blown anxiety attack, but Jack had talked about it a few times.

“The thing was, I was doing everything I could to keep them from knowing,” Jack said. “And they knew things weren’t perfect, but they were doing their best to try to keep on top of it while they let me play hockey, which was what I wanted to do. Could they have pushed me more? Sure. Maybe it even would have worked. But they were trying.

“It took me a while to accept that. And I think it took them a while to understand that I was trying too. That I didn’t want to ruin everything. That I really thought I could handle it, until I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, sweetpea.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. It was a long time ago, and we worked on it,” Jack said. “It’s weird to be a 25-year-old man and I have a better relationship with my parents than I ever did when I was a kid.”

“Almost 26.”

“Not until Wednesday. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that no matter how bad it it is with your parents now, it can change.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Eric whispered.

“Then we hang on to what we have,” Jack said. “You’re not alone.”

**49**

“Why are we getting up?” Eric asked, squinting at his phone.

It was 4:45 a.m.

“I told you we were getting up early for a run,” Jack said.

“I’m not sure this qualifies as early,” Eric said. “It might just be really late.”

“Nope,” Jack said. “Sun’s up in an hour.”

“That’s what I mean. It’s still night.”

“Got your shoes, bud?”

Eric stuffed his feet into his running shoes and followed Jack downstairs.

Jack grabbed a water bottle and filled it, then opened the back door.

“This way,” he said, leading Eric to the street in front of the house. They jogged at an easy pace up the street, then turned the corner and started up a wider, tree-lined street. As they paced along, occasionally overtaken by a car, Eric felt the extra effort of running up a slight incline in his legs.

It was only a few minutes later that Jack turned to head up a set of stairs, directly into a dark forest.

“You sure about this?” Eric asked, keeping a steady one step back. “This is how horror movies start.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “I used to come this way nearly every morning.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the top.”

“Of course we are,” Eric said.

Jack led the way over a series of paths – some paved with occasional lights, some packed dirt under the canopy of trees – that went up. Always up. But there were other people out, walkers and joggers like them, and Jack never hesitated when the path forked or they had to make a choice where two paths intersected.

It wasn’t too many minutes later that they ended up on a broader path, one that deposited them on a kind of a plaza, with a building on one side and a low wall on the other. This was where all the people seemed to be heading.

“Look,” Jack said, turning to face the wall.

A line of pink was just visible on the eastern horizon. As they watched, the line grew wider and brighter, shifting from rose to gold, and soon the first rays of the sun glinted off the skyscrapers of Montreal laid out in front of them.

Jack silently passed Eric the water bottle, and he took a few gulps as he drank in the view.

“It’s beautiful,” Eric said.

“Ouais,” Jack said. “I started coming here as soon as my parents thought I was old enough to run alone. It just always made me feel like I had a place. That I was from somewhere.”

Jack tugged his phone from his pocket and held it up to get a shot of the city. Then he turned, and Eric heard the shutter sound effect as Jack took a picture of him in profile, the early sun on his face.

“Beautiful,” Jack said. “Ready to head back? It’ll be total of about 5K if we go straight home.”

“At least this part is downhill,” Eric said. “Now I know how you ended up with that magnificent rear end.”

He followed Jack more easily, now that he had a chance of seeing where he was going, and once they left the park paths for the street, he sped up and tagged Jack on the shoulder as he passed.

“Race you,” he said.

He had to push to keep a step ahead, and he was breathing hard when he reached the Zimmermann’s porch. But Jack was short of breath as well, and flopped onto the steps. Eric settled on the porch and started working through some light stretches.

“Come on, Mr. Zimmermann,” he said. “This is how we improve flexibility.”

Jack stretched half-heartedly, then pulled Eric to his feet.

“It’s not 6:30 yet,” he said. “There’s time to go back to bed if you want.”

“Ugh. Not without a shower,” Eric said.

“Of course,” Jack said. “That’s why I asked Maman to put us in the guest room. It has an ensuite, and it’s the other end of the house from my parents’ room.”

By eight o’clock, Eric was in the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the aroma of coffee.

“I don’t know what you usually have for breakfast, but we have plenty of eggs,” Bob said. “And we can do toast or bagels or –”

“Eggs are fine,” Eric said, getting up and pulling the skillet from the cabinet where he’d spotted it the day before. He set it on the burner and turned it on low to heat while he got onions and peppers and cheese from the refrigerator. “I can do omelets.”

“Eric, you don’t have to cook breakfast,” Bob said. “You spent all afternoon yesterday baking.”

“It’s just omelets,” Eric said.

“Can I help at least?”

“Here, can you dice this onion? We won’t need all of it,” Eric said, diving back into the fridge for butter. He cut a chunk off and put in the pan to melt before picking up the pepper and starting to cut it. “Just put that in the pan when you’re done.”

The vegetables were almost done and Eric was beating the eggs when Jack wandered in. hair still damp and combed back.

“Morning, Papa,” he said. “Eric.”

He embraced Eric from behind and bent to kiss him behind his ear, missing his father rolling his eyes.

“This is the first time you’ve seen him in what, twenty minutes?” Bob said.

Eric knew his face was burning, but he just kept facing the stove.

“What? It’s adorable,” he heard Alicia say behind him. Great, the whole family was there.

“You two set the table while Eric and I finish cooking,” Bob said, with a wink at Eric.

Once Jack and Alicia were occupied, Bob said, “Sorry if it was too much. It was just too easy.”

Once Eric plated the omelets, Jack said, “Can we go to the rink this morning?”

“Some things never change,” Bob said. “Of course.”

**50**

They’d gone to the rink both mornings so far, spending time in checking practice – which Bob evidently found hilarious (“You need an excuse to get your hands on him?” he chirped Jack) – and in speed and shooting drills. Bob joined them on the ice the first morning, offering advice and instruction.

After about an hour, Jack pulled him over to the boards and said, “Want to change skates?”

“I’d have to change out of my pads and all,” Eric said.

“Go ahead,” Jack said. “We’ve got time.”

When Eric came back out of the locker room, Jack and Bob were leaning against the boards, deep in conversation. Bob had a cup of coffee in front of him, and Jack had his water bottle.

Eric could hear Jack speaking quietly and Bob’s deep chuckle as he skated onto the ice and started a series of exercises to get accustomed to his figure skates.

Once he felt comfortable, he started a series of steps, then moved into spins. His body, in black leggings and long-sleeved T-shirt, felt entirely different than it did in hockey pads. He raised his arms and elongated his spine, then transitioned into a camel position, doing his best to keep his rear leg parallel to the ice.

He hadn’t heard anything from where Bob and Jack were standing near the door to the ice. He snuck a peek – they were still talking, Bob now sketching something on the napkin that had been around his coffee cup.

Eric started a quick lap, skating backwards and picking up speed before taking off in a single toe loop.

When he landed, he looked up to see Bob and Jack staring at him. He sketched a bow, and then picked up speed again, this time making it a double and earning outright applause.

He kept skating and they kept talking, but Eric noticed Jack taking frequent peeks at what he was doing. He finally approached them and said, ‘Y’know, it’s alright if y’all watch. I’m used to an audience see me fall on my behind.”

He skated a while longer, and did, indeed, fall on his behind, Twice. But he felt like his smile would split his face when he finally headed off the ice.

“Oh my God, I am going to be so sore tomorrow,” he said. “But that felt great.”

“How long has it been since you figure skated?” Jack asked.

“Since I came to Providence,” Eric said. “The people at Faber – the rink at Samwell – they know me and let me get on sometimes when no one else has the ice. But I can’t afford to rent time.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I should have thought –”

“It’s not your job to buy me ice time,” Eric said. “Besides, it’s been a really busy summer, and it’s not like I’m trying to stay in competition shape. I just do it for fun.”

The rest of that day included a tasting tour of Old Montreal markets and restaurants that put Eric in heaven.

“Maman and Papa had dinner plans, so I figured we could do this,” Jack said. “Then we pick up some steaks to grill for later, if you want.”

“Is this you telling me not to fill up?”

“KInd of?” Jack said. “But I know you well enough to know that you’ll be hungry in a couple of hours anyway, and I figured you wouldn’t want to go out again.”

“I can make something –”

“You can make everything else if you want,” Jack said. “Salad, sides, whatever. But at least this way I get to help.”

By the end of the day – which included lots of walking, on top of the skating and the run that morning – Eric was grateful to have Jack take over the grill. He put a couple of potatoes in the convection oven to bake and built a big salad with greens, tomatoes, summer squash, peas peppers and green onions, then made honey mustard dressing to go with it. Then he took his beer to the back porch to watch Jack cook.

“My parents are taking us out to dinner tomorrow for my birthday,” Jack said. “Since we’re leaving Wednesday morning.”

“They go out a lot, don’t they?” Eric said.

“Always have,” Jack said. “They like it.”

“You don’t,” Eric said, and it wasn’t really a question.

“I don’t mind just going for dinner with them, or with a friend or two,” Jack said. “I like going out to eat with you.”

“Good thing your parents and I will be there tomorrow,” Eric said.

Jack grinned at that, and said, “It’s the … functions, I guess you’d call them. The events where people go mostly to see who’s there. I don’t know. I don’t think that’s why my parents go. They like being around a lot of people, and they like a lot of people who go. And sometimes they go because they know their presence will help a charity they care about. I just don’t like being on display like that.”

“Says the man who makes a living playing hockey in front of tens of thousands of people.”

“But I’m good at hockey,” Jack said. “I’m not good at small talk. Or holding a drink and looking pretty.”

“I think I could make a good argument against that,” Eric said. “But I won’t. Do you want a birthday cake? Or pie?”

“Cake is more traditional,” Jack said.

“Pie tastes better,” Eric said. “Not all that cloying frosting.”

“You can write on cake.”

“Are you saying I can’t put a message on a pie?”

“I would never doubt you,” Jack said. “These are ready to come off the fire. Let’s let them rest while we set the table.”


	11. Parts 51-55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Jack prepare for the end of the summer.

**51**

On the Tuesday of their visit, Alicia accompanied them to the rink in the morning.

She watched Eric, Jack and Bob mess around on the ice, playing silly games of two-on-one, mostly Eric and Bob against Jack, since Bob said he didn’t want two youngsters running him off his skates, and Eric said it wasn’t fair for a measly NCAA player to take on two NHLers, even if one had been retired for the better part of two decades.

Bob might have been older, but he was a crafty player and he wasted no time in exploiting Eric’s speed to get around Jack.

When they stopped so Eric could change into figure skating gear, Bob and Jack stayed on the ice, maybe to try some of the plays Eric had seen them drawing up the day before.

Eric knew his ears turned pink when he heard Bob tell Jack, “You’re right about him. I don’t know if I ever played with anyone faster.”

Then he realized Alicia was following him to the locker room.

“Um, did you want something?” he asked.

“Just to talk to you,” she said. “I figured the boys would be occupied on the ice. Do you have to change all the way?”

Eric’s whole face was red by then, but he said, “I need to get some leggings on, but I can go in the bathroom while you talk if you want.”

Because if Alicia did want to give him a shovel talk, Eric preferred that it happen out of Jack’s view and earshot. And he totally understood. If he had a son like Jack – big and beautiful and strong, but also more vulnerable than people realized – well, he would want to protect him too.

They entered the private locker room (“Perks of ownership,” Bob had said the previous morning) and Eric stripped off his practice jersey and started working on his pads without looking at Alicia.

“I’m not going to threaten you, Eric,” she said. “Bob might – but only to get you to give up your maple-apple pie recipe that Jack keeps talking about.”

Eric pulled his shoulder pads off and looked at her.

“Then what is this about? Because I assure you that I’m not going to make any trouble for Jack,” Eric said. “I wouldn’t hurt him for the world. I’ll do my best to keep it quiet as long as it lasts, and after, I’ll never breathe a word about it. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“And how long do you think it will last?” Alicia said, her tone a little harder than it was before.

Eric was bending down to untie his hockey skates when he said, “As long as he wants.”

He sat back up.

“Excuse me,” he said, picking his leggings uo from the bench and going around the corner to the toilet cubicle. “I’ll be right out.”

“And how long do you think that will be?” Alicia asked.

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I mean, I know I can be kind of a lot, and it won’t be easy, with him playing for the Falconers and me in school. And he could meet someone better any time. Frankly, I’m not sure what he sees in me, but whatever it is, I’m glad he does.”

When Eric returned to the main locker room to pick up his figure skates, Alicia was staring at him.

“You think he’s going to find someone better?” she asked.

“Why not?” Eric said. “Like I said, I promise not to make any trouble.”

“Do you know how many people – romantic partners – Jack has introduced to us?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I know he said he didn’t date much. A couple, I guess?”

“None,” Alicia said. “He’s brought a couple of dates to events he couldn’t get out of, but he was always clear they weren’t actually his girlfriends.”

“knew –”

“Yes, we knew Kent,” Alicia said. “We know Kent. But we met him as Jack’s teammate and friend. The rest came after, and we didn’t know about it, at least not for sure, until it was over. What I’m saying is this is unprecedented, and Jack is very serious about you. I wanted to make sure you understood that, and that you are also serious about him.”

“Well, of course I am,” Eric said. “It’s not like I’m about to walk away from him.”

“I’m sure you don’t think you will,” Alicia said. “And I like you very much, but you’re very young. If you change your mind – if it gets too hard for you, because being in a relationship with a professional athlete is hard – maybe just let us know? Not going behind Jack’s back, but letting us know to check in with him?”

“Check in or check up?” Eric said.

“Check in,” Alicia said. “I don’t want to invade his privacy, or yours.”

She looked around at the locker room.

“Current circumstances notwithstanding,” she said.

“No worries,” Eric said. “I’ve been changing with other people in locker rooms for a long time.”

“And Eric, if it does get hard, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, and so is Bob,” Alicia said. “From what Jack said, it sounded like your parents might not be much help.”

“I appreciate that,” Eric said. “Truly I do. There is one thing I could use help with now. Does this rink have a sound system?”

He’d blundered his way through one of his last programs, doubling jumps that had been triples, but the Zimmermanns seemed to enjoy the show.

The rest of the day was quieter. Alicia insisted on having Jack visit his tailor – she said he needed at least one new suit before the season, and new jeans. Eric went along just to chirp, and ended up fitted for a suit as well.

“It’s too much,” he said. “I can’t let you buy me a custom-made suit. Besides, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Henry will make it to your measurements and send it to a guy in Boston,” Jack said. “He’ll do final alterations. We can go together. And you can consider it a birthday present.”

“It’s your birthday,” Eric said. “You should be getting the gifts. I don’t see how a suit for me qualifies.”

“Maybe not,” Jack said. “But I do.”

**52**

The birthday pie was a success.

Eric made it – with Jack’s help – before they went out to dinner with the Zimmermanns on Tuesday evening.

Bob sat and watched every step, taking notes.

“You know, I have this up on my vlog,” Eric said, peering at Bob’s notebook to make sure he had gotten the thickness of the apple slices right.

“Jack said we weren’t allowed to watch that,” Bob said.

“That’s what you told me,” Jack confirmed. “When I asked before.”

“I know,” Eric said. And he did say that. But he also liked to teach people to bake, and what would be better than giving tham an example they could watch again and again? “There are some things that I just don’t want to inflict on the world. My 15-year-old self among them. And I said some things that – it’s not that I’d want to take them back, exactly, but I’ve changed.”

“Of course you have,” Bob said. “Growing up is a process.”

“How about I send you a link to the one with this recipe?” Eric asked Bob. “It’s from just before I left Samwell in May – the first time I did this recipe was after Jack helped get the keys out of my friend Lardo’s car. I mean, you’ll have to listen to me moon over the nameless but very handsome jock who came to my rescue, but if you think you can handle it …”

Now it was Jack’s turn to go red in the face. Bob looked delighted.

“Of course, Eric. I promise not to invade your privacy,” he said.

“Why does he get to look and I don’t?” Jack asked.

“Because if you want to learn how to bake something, sweetpea, all you have to do is ask me,” Eric said. “The dough should be chilled enough, so let’s get it out of the fridge.”

Later, Eric was glad he’d gotten the pie done before dinner. The restaurant was all understated elegance, but he may have had more than his share of the two bottles of wine that were served to the table. Or maybe not. It was hard to tell. And as fun as drunk baking was (not that he was drunk in the home of his boyfriend’s parents. Of course not. Maybe a little tipsy. But only a little), as soon as Bob and Alicia said good-night, Eric took Jack’s hand and tugged him to the guest room.

“I have an idea,” he said as soon as the door was closed.

“Yeah?” Jack said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Tell me about it.”

“About my vlog,” Eric said.

Jack dropped his hands to his sides.

“Your vlog? Go on.”

“Most of the posts are fine, or could be with just a little editing,” Eric said. “I mean, people would have to sit through me mooning over unattainable boys, but I can live with that. Because Jack, it doesn’t matter if my parents find out. I told them! I came out to them! But yeah, there are some that are really personal, and those I can make private. But the others – if your dad or my team want to watch them, that should be okay, right?”

“Whatever you think, bud,” Jack said.

“And then people could watch them and learn to bake even if they know me,” Eric said. 

He stopped.

“But you could watch them all. If you want. I mean, even the private ones.”

“Only if you want me to,” Jack said. “I mean, I’ll definitely watch the baking ones, if you say it’s okay. But maybe you should think about it more. Tomorrow, or over the next week, maybe.”

“You mean when your parents haven’t plied me with alcohol?”

“Something like that,” Jack said.

“Y’know, I’ve never had that much to drink in front of my parents,” Eric said. “They’re not big drinkers anyway, but even if Coach has a couple of beers, I stop at one. I just never wanted to let anything slip. But with your parents, I don’t have anything to hide.”

He took a step forward and started working on Jack’s buttons himself.

“It took me a long while to get there with my parents,” Jack said, taking the opportunity to untie Eric’s bowtie. “But it is easier.”

“Your mom even knows what I look like in my skivvies,” Eric mused, as Jack opened his shirt.

“What?”

“This morning. She followed me into the locker room to – not so much a shovel talk as asking my intentions,” Eric said.

“Bud, I’m sorry,” Jack groaned. “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

“You don’t have to,” Eric said. “I get it. She wants to protect you. She wanted to make sure I was serious about you. I am. We’re fine.”

“That all?” Jack said.

Eric shrugged. “If something did go wrong between us, she asked if I would give her and your dad a heads up,” he said. “She seemed to think I might leave you, but that’s not gonna happen. Maybe other way. I know I can be a lot to deal with.”

“That’s not going to happen either,” Jack said. “At least, I can’t see it. What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t promise either way,” Eric said. “Hard to know what I’d do in a situation I can’t really imagine, you know?”

Then he pulled Jack close, and said, “But there are a lot of things I can imagine just now.”

“Are there?” Jack said. “Does that mean you’re ready for bed?”

**53**

“That is really good,” Bob said, cutting another bite off his slice of pie with the side of his fork. “Just the right amount of maple. It’s amazing.”

“Well, I did have to try it a few times to get it right,” Eric said.

“You did?” Jack asked. “I thought you said the first time you made it was this spring?”

“It was,” Eric said. “I just had to make sure I got it right, so it took maybe three or four times. Those pies weren’t bad, really – it’s hard to go wrong with maple and apple – and my teammates liked them. But it had to be right.”

“But you brought me that pie the next day.”

“Yes?”

“You baked four pies in one night?”

“Well, five if you count the ginger peach,” Eric said. “But that’s really not a big deal.”

“But it takes so long to make one,” Jack said.

“That’s real dedication,” Bob said. “Good for you, Eric.”

“I’ll send you the link to the recipe,” Eric said. “Once I get settled back in the Haus.”

“Speaking of,” Jack said. “We should head for airport soon. We pass through customs and U.S. immigration here, so we have to allow a little more time.”

“Okay, sweetpea,” Eric said. “I just have to close up my suitcase with my skates in it.”

Alicia gave Jack a look, and Jack gave Alicia a nod, and Eric gave his head a mental shake.

“What was that about with your mother?” he asked, when he and Jack went upstairs to fetch their bags. “I know better than to think y’all tampered with my skates, but …”

“Nobody did anything to your skates,” Jack said. “Don’t worry. It’s just, you might not want to bring them every time you come here.”

“So?”

“So Maman maybe asked me to note what model and size you use? I know you’ll still have to break them in, but at least it’ll be an option.”

“Which set?” Eric asked.

“Both?”

“Now wait a minute,” Eric said. “I’m pleased as could be that your parents expect me to stick around long enough to come back and skate, like, lots of times. But that’s what – over a thousand dollars worth of skates, Jack. It’s too much.”

Jack shrugged. “They don’t think so,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure they can afford it.”

Eric occupied himself on the way back by making a to-do list. The plan was to head back to Jack’s, which had central air conditioning and more comfortable accommodations, then set out for the Haus bright and early to start getting it ready. Jack had volunteered himself to help, since Eric took time to visit Montreal with him.

“Practice starts Monday, so most of the guys will coming in Saturday and Sunday,” he said. “Except the frogs – they’ll all be in Saturday because they have some university-mandated trainings and stuff over the weekend. We’re not supposed to bother them until that’s over, but I don’t think leaving them a little care package is bothering them, do you?”

“Frogs?”

“Freshmen. Like rookies. First year on the team, first year in school, for most of them the first year they’ve been away from home. So I was going to make some mini-pies, some chocolate chip cookies, maybe some lip balm – I had the worst chapped lips my first year. Never really lived in a cold climate before. Oh, probably some mittens, too. And stickers. Everybody loves stickers.”

“Okay, first, I think that’s great that you want to welcome the new guys,” Jack said. “We usually end up, well, hazing them a bit. Nothing too terrible – just making them carry the other guys bags and stuff like that. I think the idea is to make them feel like they’ve earned their place, or something.”

“Oh, we do that, too,” Eric said. “Mostly we just make them act foolish. Lord knows, there’s enough foolishness on the team that they might as well get used to it. But first we want to make sure they know we want them here.”

“Are they good?” Jack said.

“I should hope so,” Eric said. “The team’s been getting better in recent years, so our recruiting classes have been getting stronger.”

“Then why wouldn’t you want them?” Jack asked.

“I meant as people, not as players,” Eric said. “We want them to know we care.”

“How did they welcome your class?” Jack asked.

“Well, no one made pie,” Eric said. “Except me. But Shitty and Ransom and Holster – they kind of adopted me, almost right off the bat. It was like I suddenly had brothers. Loud, obnoxious brothers. In a lot of ways, they were like the guys I tried to avoid when I was home because you just never know, y’know? But they liked me, and they wanted me to play with them, and it was really something new for me. Even though the transition to the NCAA game was rough, I would have done just about anything to stay on the team.

“I know – I hope – the transition is easier for the guys, but I remember how good it felt to be wanted,” Eric said. “So this is part of that.”

“That’s great,” Jack said. Then he smirked. “But if they grew up playing hockey, they’re probably from places where it gets cold, no?”

“Hush, you,” Eric said. “I still think it’s nice to make them comfortable. You mind if we stop at Target this afternoon and some point? Oh, and Shitty and Lardo are coming by for dinner, so we’ll start with cleaning the kitchen. Ransom and Holster might come by this week, too. Would you mind if they –”

“Whatever you want,” Jack said. “If you trust them, it’s fine. And whatever you want to do. I’m yours until Monday.”

**54**

Eric felt sticky and sweaty and he knew he kind of stunk.

He’d been cleaning non-stop since he and Jack arrived at the Haus at 10 a.m., and it was almost time to start dinner. But first he needed a shower.

He stripped his rubber gloves off and surveyed the kitchen. It was a little bare maybe – the curtains were hanging on the clothesline Jack had rigged in on the backyard to dry, and there was a distinct lack of baked good on the counter – but it looked safe to cook in. Even if it did smell distinctly of bleach.

The hall bathroom, the one he’d be sharing with Ollie and Wicks this year, had also been scrubbed down, and he’d brought his shower caddy from the Weavers, so he had everything he needed.

Eric walked into the living room, where he could hear Jack running the vacuum cleaner. Bitty looked at the living room in approval. The terrifying couch was hidden under a clean sheet, the tables had been wiped down, even the walls looked cleaner. The part of the floor not covered by a rug was mopped, and Jack was seeing to the carpet.

Jack himself looked every bit as grotty as Eric felt, but he still smiled when he turned and saw Eric in the doorway.

He shut the vacuum cleaner off and said, “Taking a break?”

“About done for today, I think,” Eric said. “I need to get dinner going. Ransom and Holster – my captains from last year – are driving out with Shitty and Lardo, so I was just going to throw the chicken and burgers on the grill and make some salads and a blueberry crumble and maybe some cookies. I should have done an icebox pie, but I kind of left that too late.”

“Do you need to go to the store? Want me to go?” Jack asked.

“Maybe,” Eric said. “I’m gonna take a shower before I start. You want one too? I wouldn’t recommend trying to shower together – it’s nothing like your bathroom, and two of us trying to stand in an old tub probably isn’t worth the effort. But you can come up with me, if you want.”

Jack followed Eric upstairs and was waiting with a towel around his waist when Eric finished.

“Might as well leave the water running, bud,” Jack said.

Eric pulled on his boxers and crossed the hall to his room, pulling clothes from his duffel bag and putting them in drawers while he looked for the shirt and shorts he wanted. He glanced at his phone; James had texted again wanting to talk about Eric’s ongoing work.

Eric had texted back the first time, when Jack was driving to Samwell in the morning, saying that he could meet with James Friday morning, but he was busy all day Thursday.

The next two text he had ignored.

Eric turned the phone face down on his desk. He hadn’t yet dressed when Jack came back in, still just wrapped in the towel.

“Did you bring clean clothes?” Eric asked. “I might be able to find something –”

“I have fresh clothes in my car,” Jack said. “I keep a change in case I forget when I go to the gym. But I can’t go out like this.”

“I feel like I should make a ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ joke,” Eric said. “But don’t worry. I’ll get them as soon as I’m dressed.”

“No need to hurry,” Jack said. “Come here and rest a minute?”

Eric crossed to the bed (made with fresh sheets and a clean comforter), pushed Jack down, and planted a kiss on his chest before curling up against his side.

That was the last thing he remembered until he heard feet thundering up the stairs.

“Yo, Bits! You here?”

“Bitty brah?”

Ugh. All of them. And he hadn’t even started dinner. He must have slept at least an hour.

Now Jack was stirring, pushing up on his elbows.

“Did we fall asleep?” he asked.

“Looks that way,” Eric muttered. Then he called out, “Just a minute guys, I’ll be right –”

The door opened and Ransom and Holster and Shitty and Lardo all piled in.

“– out.”

“Sorry, little brah,” Shitty said, at least looking abashed. “We’re a little early. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“That’s Jack Zimmermann,” Holster said.

“Bitty, Jack Zimmermann is in your bed,” Ransom said. “With no clothes.”

“I know, guys. I was going to introduce you tonight,” Eric said. “But you weren’t interrupting anything. We were just napping.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Lardo said.

“Hush,” Eric said. “Jack, that’s Holster and that’s Ransom, and you know Shitty and Lardo. Guys, Jack has been helping me with my checking thing.”

“No, _that’s_ what they’re calling it now,” Holster said.

“Oh, come on,” Eric said, sliding out from under the top sheet. “I gotta get Jack’s bag out of the car. Come on downstairs with me. You can help start dinner.”

When Eric came back up, he was alone.

“Sorry about them,” he said, laying Jack’s bag at the foot of the bed. “They don’t mean any harm.”

“They’re fine,” Jack said. “My team was worse.”

Eric giggled and gave him a brief kiss. “Yes,” he said. “I need to go supervise. Get dressed and come on down.”

“I can still go to the store for you, if you make a list,” Jack said.

Jack did go to the store, but so did Eric and everyone else. Jack and Eric rode in Jack’s car with Shitty, while Ransom and Holster took Lardo in theirs, leaving Lardo’s little Honda at the Haus

“Murder or racist?” Holster asked before they left.

“Murder, definitely,” Eric said, watching Jack’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “The racist one always smells funny.”

When they got in the car, he told Jack, “He was asking which supermarket. Legend has it there was a murder committed in the parking lot of the one we’re going to, once upon a time. And people say the people at the racist one are, well, racist, although I don’t think anyone on the team has had a problem.”

“Still, you can’t really blame a place if someone else does something bad there,” Shitty said. “You can blame them for hiring racist employees.”

“If we knew they did,” Eric said. “And they didn’t do anything about it. But yeah. And I don’t trust their meats.”

Once they arrived, Eric tried to limit the shopping to what they needed: some veggies for salad, some fruit, a couple of chickens to cut up and grill, meat for burgers. He had made a list of what condiments he needed for salad dressing and a barbecue glaze for the chicken, and he did need just a little butter, milk, and flour for the cobbler he planned to make. The baking powder, sugar and spices still in the kitchen would be enough for one dessert.

When he said that as he put one five-pound bag of flour in the cart, Holster took it out and replaced it with two ten-pound packages.

“No way, dude,” he said. “You gotta make us at least one pie to take back. Make the cobbler for tonight, and a pie for us.”

“Us, too,” Lardo said. “It’s been weeks, Bits. Shitty and I are dying.”

Eric knew his cheeks were pink as he said, “Well, then, we need more butter and fruit. Y’all go get some peaches, more blueberries, maybe some lemons? Jack and I will get more butter.”

Before leaving the baking aisle, he hefted another ten pounds of sugar into the cart, and the largest canister of baking powder they had.

“Are you okay with this?” Jack asked. “It sounds like a lot of work.”

“It’s just a couple of pies,” Eric said.

When they were checking out, Eric tried to pay for what had turned into two full carts of groceries (“Are you sure that’s enough butter, brah? Get some more. You can always freeze it.” “Get more pasta to have on hand. You know how the beginning of the year is.” “You know what’s always good? Chocolate chips.”) but he was beaten to it by five other people pulling out debit cards.

“Y’all know I was gainfully employed all summer, right?” he said. “And I’m the only one who’s going to be at the Haus long enough to eat even a fraction of this.”

“We know that, Bitty,” Holster said. “But you saved us all so much money over the past couple of years by cooking all the time. And we know you’re not the only one eating this, so why should you have to pay for it. Let us, okay? It’ll be our gift to SMH. Now, as to what Zimmermann there has to do with it …”

“Can y’all just leave my boyfriend alone?” Eric muttered, then froze. He looked around and didn’t see anyone paying attention to the group. If anything, the store workers were trying to stay as far from them as they could. SMH did have a reputation.

Holster and Ransom looked gleeful, and Shitty and Lardo looked smug. The only thing anyone said was Holster’s, “In that case, he can pay for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said, as soon as they were back in the car, with Lardo in the back seat this time.

“For what?” Jack said. “No one noticed.”

“I know, but they might have,” Eric said. “And you had to buy $300 worth of groceries.”

“I think I can afford it,” Jack said.

It was late by the time they ate. When they returned to the Haus, Ransom and Holster announced they would handle the grilling, and Lardo assigned herself to salads. The corn on the cob would only take a few minutes to boil, so Eric started by making his pie crusts.

The sun was down when they were gathered around the kitchen table, two pies were cooling on the counter and two more – plus the cobbler – were in the oven.

Eric was about to dig in when his phone buzzed again. James again.

Eric put the phone down and tried to concentrate on his plate.

“Everything okay, Bitty?” Shitty asked. “You usually save that face for Hot Pockets.”

“Fine,” Eric said. “My boss is being a little pushy. But it’ll be fine.”

**55**

“Brah, that’s really not fine,” Shitty said after Eric explained that James kept asking for his time and attention outside of work hours. “Even if there’s nothing skeevy about it, he has no right to your time when you’re not getting paid.”

“It’s not like that,” Eric said. “He’s what, in his mid-30s? Like a real adult. He’s just being friendly.”

He threw a look at Jack, appealing for help, but found none.

“Yeah, about that age,” Jack said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not a creep.”

“Yeah, Bits,” Lardo said. “‘Dirty old man’ is a thing for a reason.”

“Come on, guys,” Eric said. “He’s never suggested anything over the line. And he’s a good contact to have. And he gives me a reason to go to Providence during the school year.”

“You’re not trying to keep this thing with Jack secret, are you, bro?” Holster said, looking around the table.

“Cause you’re not doing a very good job,” Ransom said.

“Not totally,” Eric said. “Y’all know, and I was gonna tell the other guys in the Haus, just in case they need to find me in an emergency. But not the whole team.”

“Hall and Murray?” Lardo asked. “Ford?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I probably have to tell them that I’m at least friends with Jack, if he’s going to come to some of our games. What do you think, Jack?”

“They’re your coaches?” Jack said.

“And the manager,” Eric said. “Hall and Murray know people in the hockey world, too.”

“You could get them to sign NDAs,” Shitty suggested.

“Do you trust them?” Jack asked Eric.

Eric thought about the phone call he got in Georgia, saying they liked his tape and inviting him to visit campus. The talks in their office when he was still crumpling to the ice on the regular, the referral to a counselor, and the way Rans and Holster has appointed themselves his guardian angels after that. The warm smiles and handshakes when the team elected him captain.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“Then they need to be able to trust you, too,” Jack said. “You should tell them.”

“Ford too?”

“Can you trust him?”

“Her,” Lardo said. “And I’d say yes.”

“Then her too,” Jack said.

“Can we do it tomorrow?” Eric said. “I told James I’d come talk to him in the morning, but I know they’re on campus. Can you come with me in the afternoon?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “I’ll come with in the morning, too.”

“No — I don’t want to tell James about us,” Eric said. “There was a reason we were together on Friday evenings, but I’m not sure how I’d explain having you with me tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll go,” Shitty said. “I can be your pretend agent. Put this law degree to use.”

“You don’t have a degree yet,” Eric said.

“So?” Shitty asked. “Lards, can I borrow your car? Or you can drive me and hang with Jackabelle here.”

“Why not?” Lardo said. “It’ll help me avoid packing.”

“That’s right,” Eric said. “When are you leaving for New York?”

“I have to be there by the fifteenth, so ten more days,” Lardo said.

“Are you excited? To be going to art school?” Jack asked.

“I am,” Lardo said. “But I’m also kind of scared shitless.”

“C’mon, Lards,” Shitty said. “Even if I’m stuck in Cambridge, I’ll always be with you in spirit.”

“Not what I meant, Shitty,” she said, but she was smiling again.

The group broke up shortly after that, with Ransom and Holster bemoaning a schedule that called on them to be at the office at nine every morning.

Eric and Jack walked out of the Haus — now feeling more like home with a full refrigerator and stocked cupboards — with Shitty and Lardo.

Lardo squeezed Eric briefly. “See you tomorrow,” she said. “There’s something I want to run by you anyway.”

Eric yawned as Jack drove them back down to Providence.

“Hard to believe this is my last night here,” Eric said, stripping off his shirt and shorts.

“No,” Jack said. “You’ll be here. You’ll come and stay, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Eric said. “I just meant that tomorrow night I should be back at the Haus – Dex and Nursey will both be back, and Chowder. You’re staying for dinner, right? You can stay the night if you want, but I don’t think I should leave. Not the first night the guys are there.”

“No, I understand,” Jack said. “You’re the captain. You should be with your team. You sure you want me to be there for dinner? You don’t want to have some team bonding time?”

“It’s not the whole team,” Eric said. “Just the guys in the Haus. And I’m not even sure about Ollie and Wicks. They kind of show up when they’re needed. And I think it would be good for them to meet you.”

“Okay,” Jack said, tossing his shirt toward the hamper. “If you want.”

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Eric said, chewing his lower lip. “Ransom and Holster today, and Murray and Hall and Dex and Nursey and Chowder tomorrow? I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Jack said. “It is kind of a lot of people, but this is your team. You need them, and they need you, and I want to know the people who are important to you. It would be easier on me to spread it out, but I know hockey teams –”

“– and once I tell one, they’ll all know?” Eric said. “Pretty much.”

“I’m just missing you already,” Jack said. “I know we’ll see each other over the weekend, but it won’t be the same as having you in Providence.”

“Then maybe we should make the most of tonight,” Eric said, sitting on the bed. “C’mere, you.”


	12. Parts 56-60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things get resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I've had so much fun writing this, I'll probably do a few one-shots: scenes from Jack's point of view, maybe a missing scene or two. Subscribe to the series if you want to be notified.

**56**

Eric was waiting in front of the building when Shitty and Lardo pulled up and Lardo hopped out of the driver’s seat.

l

“Jack’s upstairs staring at the lemon poppyseed muffins I made,” Eric said. “He’ll have one, but he wanted to eat with you when you got here. Whatever you don’t eat is for you and Shitty to take home, so don’t be shy. Isaac’s expecting you, so he’ll let you right up.”

“Thanks, Bits,” Lardo said. “Good luck. You got this.”

Then Eric slid into the driver’s seat. Before he put the car in gear, Shitty called, “Don’t eat them all!”

Then, as Eric headed for the Greenhouse, Shitty asked, “How do you want to play this?”

“I’m just gonna meet with James to settle how this is going to work during the school year. You’re just coming for moral support – and so James sees me with someone besides Jack.”

“Coolio,” Shitty said. “I’ll be cool. Unless I have to step in.”

“Not my dad, Shitty,” Eric said. “Not even my lawyer.”

“But I’m here as your agent,” Shitty said. “I even dressed for the part.”

“Thanks, Shitty,” Eric said. “I really do appreciate it. But you have to remember that I want this job.”

“I know,” Shitty said.

It wasn’t until they got out that Eric got the full effect of Shitty’s outfit. His button-down shirt – worn with the collar open – was maybe a little brighter blue than Eric would expect on a lawyer, and the pinstripe in his gray trousers was just slightly brighter than usual. His hair was pulled back into a short ponytail.

But the floral print belt and the Birkenstocks on his feet – well, he wasn’t a Brooks Brothers model, now was he?

Eric walked in and headed straight to James’ office, rapping on the open door before entering.

“Hey, James,” he said. “This is my friend, uh, Shitty.”

“Shitty Knight,” Shitty said, extending a hand as James raised his eyebrows.

“He’s an old teammate of mine,” Eric said. “Hockey nickname, but it’s what everyone calls him. He gave me a ride over.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re not just pulling my leg,” James said. “Uh, Shitty, would you like some coffee of something?”

“No, thanks, man,” Shitty said. “Eric here made some lemon poppyseed muffins that have my name on them, so I’ll wait until we’re done here.”

“What are you doing now?” James asked. “Do you live here in Providence?”

“Nah,” Shitty said. “Cambridge. I’m in law school.”

Eric saw James’ eyebrows rise minutely. He’d clearly figured out where Shitty went to school, and that he didn’t care much about conforming to social norms – something Eric had observed was actually more common among people who could afford not to care what people thought.

“You wanted to talk about having me work during the school year,” Eric said, trying to bring the conversation back on track. “I’m certainly open to that, as I said, but the schedule is going to have to be pretty flexible.”

“That’s fine,” James said. “I was hoping you could maybe do eight to ten hours a week.”

“I can probably make the time for that,” Eric said. “If I can do the work from home. At least most of it. I’ll try to work my schedule so I have at least one day free of classes, and that day I should be able to make it down to work here for four or five hours, because even if we have hockey practice it will either be early in the morning or in the late afternoon. But there will be weeks when I have a roadie that day, and there will be exams and such.”

“Any idea what day that would be?” James asked.

“Not yet,” Eric said. “Most likely Monday or Friday. Maybe Wednesday, though. I’ll have to let you know after the first week of classes.”

“Well, I think that should be fine. Just keep a record of your hours, here and at home, and send them to me every Friday,” James said.

“Have you settled how much you’ll get paid yet?” Shitty asked Eric.

“I imagine the same as I got paid over the summer,” Eric said, confused.

“You should ask for a raise,” Shitty said. “You said that a lot of the clients here are getting more traction now that they’re more active on social media.”

“We can’t afford much more,” James said. “Maybe another fifty cents an hour?”

“That brings me to $17 an hour,” Eric said.

“That okay with you, brah?” Shitty said.

“Sure is,” Eric said. “Thanks, James.”

“I’m glad we can make it happen,” James said. “For both of us. I was going to see if I take you to lunch today, but it looks like you have plans already.”

“Sure do,” Eric said.

“Meeting up with his boyfriend,” Shitty chipped in.

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” James said.

“Well, you know, new school year,” Shitty said. “Circumstances change.”

“Shitty!” Eric said. “Let’s try to keep my personal life out of the office!”

“It’s fine,” James said. “We won’t tease you if you don’t want. Mr. Knight, pleasant meeting you.”

“You too, James,” Shitty said.

“Eric, will you be in this coming week at all?”

“I’m meeting with coaches this afternoon,” Eric said. “As soon as I get the practice schedule, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good,” James said.

When they got back to the car, Eric turned to Shitty.

“Why did you say I have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Because, wrong as it is, some guys won’t take no for an answer unless they think you’re taken,” Shitty said. “But now he has the impression the guy is at Samwell. Or he thinks the guy is me. Which is cool.”

“I guess,” Eric said. “Thanks for asking about the raise, too. Even though you said you would keep quiet.”

“Squeaky wheel gets the oil and all that,” Shitty said. “Pick up our other halves and head down to Jerry’s for lunch?”

**57**

After burritos and beer (for Shitty and Lardo) and a week excuse for iced tea for Eric and Jack, Shitty and Lardo split off before Eric and Jack started walking towards Faber.

“Wait, Lardo, wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about?” Eric said.

“No worries, Bits,” Lardo said. “It’ll keep. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“All right,” Eric said. “I’ll call you.”

“Sure thing,” Lardo said.

Eric took in the way Jack looked at the campus, which was nearly at its best in the late summer sun. The trees were green and leafy, and the surface of the pond glinted, and even the Well managed to look charming instead of sad and cliched.

As they approached Faber, Jack stopped just to look.

“It’s gorgeous,” Jack said.

“Wait ‘til you see the inside,” Eric said.

The ice shone almost gold with the light streaming in the tall windows. The bottom part of the glass was misted over with the contrast in temperature between the inside and outside, but the blue of the sky was clear.

“It must be something to play here,” Jack said, taking it in.

“It is,” Eric said. “You want to wait here while I go see the coaches, or you want to come with?”

“You want me to be there?”

“Maybe after I tell them?” Eric said. “It might be a little while – we have to go over the practice schedule and stuff first.”

“That’s fine,” Jack said, pulling his phone out. “MInd if I take some pictures?”

“Go ahead,” Eric said. “I’ll text you when we’re ready. Office is down that hall.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Eric spent about a half-hour going over the practice schedule with Hall and Murphy – early mornings Tuesdays and Thursdays, Monday evenings when there wasn’t a Sunday game, and late Friday afternoons most weeks. Team gym time would be Mondays before practice and Thursday afternoons, and players were expected to put in at least one session a week on their own.

“I’m gonna be busy,” Eric said. “I have my thesis, too, and my boss from the summer wants me to work a few hours a week too.”

“In Providence?” Hall said. “That’s a hike.”

“Only once a week there,” Eric said. “I’ll try not to have a class on Wednesdays, or maybe just one, so I can go then. And I can study on the train.”

“If you say so,” Hall said. “If you need to miss an occasional practice – and that means for classwork as well as your job – make sure you talk to us. We can set you up with tutors or whatever you need. But we need you to be eligible.”

They’d also covered what they wanted Eric to do: lead warm-ups before practices and games, serve as a team leader and spokesman, as the captains before had done.

“We’re not looking to you to draw up plays or develop strategy,” Murray said, “Although you’re welcome to make suggestions, of course. What we would like is your input on how to help the team develop more speed, and also maybe help them work on flexibility.

“I can come up with some drills to do that,” Eric said. “I can talk to my old skating coach – I met up with her over the summer – and see if she can give me some ideas.”

“The other thing we need to talk about is how you want to handle being out as captain,” Hall said. “It’s probably going to generate some attention from beyond our campus. We can just shut it down – not make you available to talk to anyone besides the Daily, or tell other hockey writers that questions have to be limited to the game. One of us can sit with you to make sure they stick to it.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Eric asked.

“It’s up to you,” Hall said. “I don’t want you distracted by too much media. But I know that a lot of people are interested, and I think you would be a good a role model. We could set up one of two interviews at the beginning of the season, but say anyone who wants to talk to you pre- or post-game sticks to hockey.”

“I think I could do that,” Eric said. “I just remember being so scared to come out. Even to the team. It would have been easier if I realized that I wasn’t the only one.”

“Have you come out to your parents yet?” Murray asked. “You should try to do that before we do anything.”

“I did,” Eric said. “I went home over the Fourth of July, and I talked to them before I went back to Providence.”

“How did it go?” Hall asked.

Eric shrugged.

“Not great, not terrible,” Eric said. “We’ve talked since. My mother will be here for parents weekend. Maybe my dad, too.”

“Sounds like it could have been worse,” Hall said.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “My boyfriend was there, and that really helped a lot.”

“Boyfriend?” Murray said. “Someone from Samwell?”

“Uh, no,” Eric said. “Not exactly.”

There was a rap on the door, and then Ford poked her head in.

“Coach Hall? Coach Murray? I found this guy hanging out by the ice. He said he’s a friend of Bitty’s. I have to go run an errand and I didn’t want to just leave him there.”

“We’re about done,” Murray was saying as the door swung open wider and Jack came into view.

“Jack Zimmermann?”

“Hi, Eric,” Jack said. “Sorry if we’re interrupting.”

**58**

Eric hoped his grin didn’t betray his nerves as he said, “Would this be a good time to say we need a ground rule that I won’t discuss my relationship status?”

Hall recovered first. 

“We can set whatever ground rules for media interaction that you want,” he said. “And you don’t need to answer this if you really don’t want to, but I think it would be helpful for us to know. Is Jack Zimmermann here your boyfriend?”

“Where are my manners?” Eric said. “Coach Hall, Coach Murray, this is my boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann. Jack, these are my coaches.”

Jack reached out and shook the coaches hands. Eric knew the smile Jack was offering was mostly his media-and-fans smile, with something a little more genuine behind it. Of course, Hall and Murray were part of the hockey world, and Jack recognized that, Eric supposed.

“Call me Jack,” Jack was saying. “And yes, Eric and I have been dating for a couple of months now.”

“We’re not making it public,” Eric hastened to reassure them. “But we decided not to keep it secret from the people who are important to us. Our immediate families know – I mentioned Jack came to Georgia and met my parents – and most of the Falconers. We told Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster already, and I was going to tell the guys in the Haus. Jack here suggested that you and Ford should know.”

“I guess I know why that job in Providence is so attractive,” Murray said.

“That’s part of it,” Eric said. “I’m not thinking I’m going to tell the whole team, at least not just yet. Having a job there gives me a reason to go to Providence. But I didn’t take the job there this summer because of Jack. We didn’t start dating until a couple of weeks after I got there. We’d already started skating together. Jack’s been helping me all summer with the checking thing.”

“And Eric’s been making me work on my speed,” Jack said. “He’s got some skills.”

“He certainly does,” Hall said. “Why do you think we recruited him in the first place?”

“Since we’ve been skating together at least once a week in a public rink, I figure we could just say we met and developed a friendship,” Eric said. “It’s true, if not the whole truth, and that’ll explain Jack turning up at some of our games. He won’t make many, I’m sure, but he said he wanted to see me play.”

“Forget games,” Murray said. “Can he come to a practice or two?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “I’d probably have to ask management if I can participate in any official on-ice activity. But I’d like to. You’ve got a good team here, even losing last year’s seniors. The second D pair from last year is excellent, and Chow is a standout in goal.”

“He watched tape before we even met for the second time,” Eric said, realizing how fond he sounded only after the words came out of his mouth. He adjusted his tone before he said, “I’m pretty sure it was because he didn’t believe me when I said I played.”

“I believed you,” Jack said. “I just didn’t know how good you were.”

“Well, we won’t say anything about your relationship,” Hall said. “But this does add to what’s already looking like a pretty packed schedule. We will be keeping an eye on your grades.”

“I understand,” Eric said. “But it’s not like Jack’s going to be sitting there mooning over me when I’m busy. His own training camp starts next month.”

“I’m kind of relieved that Eric will be as busy as I am,” Jack said.

“He won’t have as much travel,” Murray said. “But on a day-to-day basis, he might be busier.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Jack said.

Jack’s coaches must have always loved him, Eric thought. He sounded so earnest and respectful.

“Okay, Eric, I’m sure you have better things to do with your last officially free weekend,” Hall said. “The introductory meeting with the new frogs is Monday at 10.”

“I’ll be here, sir,” Eric said. “And I’ll make sure they all get their welcome packages this weekend.”

Walking back to the Haus, Eric sighed.

“I’m really not going to be able to see you anywhere near as much as I want to, am I?” he said. “I’ll try to keep Wednesdays free to go to Providence, but we have early practice Thursdays, and there’s no way I could stay over and make it back in time. It’s a good two hours if I take the train and shuttle, and that’s if everything goes perfectly.”

“You could take an Uber back in the morning,” Jack said.

“Do you have any idea how much that would cost?” Eric asked.

“Not really, but I bet it’d be worth it,” Jack said.

“I can’t afford it,” Eric said.

“I can.”

“I know _you_ can,” Eric said. “But it’s not like you can just pay for everything.”

“So you wouldn’t let me just buy you a car?” Jack said. “That seems like the most practical solution.”

“Jack, did you hear what I just said?”

“It wouldn’t have to be a new car,” Jack mused. “Something reliable, of course, and safe.”

“Oh, please,” Eric said. “First, you can’t buy me a minivan, which is where it sounds like you’re heading. Second, no buying me cars.”

He shook his head and looked up to the heavens.

“This boy.”

**59**

Eric stood on the Haus porch and watched Jack drive away. Somehow, even though they would be seeing each other tomorrow, that made the separation real. Jack and Eric had both been busy over the summer, but it was nothing like the coming months would be. There would be a day -- a day coming soon -- when Jack would leave, or Eric would leave Jack in Providence, and they wouldn’t have a plan to see each other for weeks.

Eric shook himself. No need to borrow trouble, Moomaw said. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, he needed to see if anyone else was home and get them started on making welcome packages.

If everything went according to plan, he and Jack would not only see each other tomorrow, they’d skate together. With any luck, Dex and Nursey and Chowder could join them. Maybe even Ollie and Wicks, although Eric was wary of overwhelming Jack with too many new people at once.

“Anyone here?” Eric called out from the front hall as he made his way through the kitchen.

“Bitty? Is that you? When did you get in?” Chowder was galumphing down the stairs. “My flight just got in a couple of hours ago, and Dex and Nursey picked me up. Well, Dex did -- did you know he has a pickup truck? -- and Nursey came too. Only I had to sit in the middle on the way back.”

Chowder looked down for a beat as skidded to a stop in front of Bitty.

“Anyway, they’re upstairs figuring out who gets which bunk,” Chowder said. “They’ll be down in a minute. You know Ollie and Wicks said they could take the bunk beds from the attic? “Cause they were bringing their own bed? Did you see it yet?”

Eric had seen it. He’d taken a peek when he and Jack moved his things before the trip to Montreal. Ollie and Wicks had apparently come in for a week over the summer to overhaul the attic, which now featured a king-sized bed, curtains that coordinated with the area rugs, new shelving, and an actual chandelier. 

To think that he had been worried about the team accepting his sexuality when he first came out. As far as he knew, Ollie and Wicks had never come out to anyone; certainly not to him. They just continued to show up to everything -- practice, the bus for roadies, team meals, kegsters, even Winter Screw -- together. They touched each other a lot, but then living with the team sometimes felt like living among a litter of affectionate puppies.

Eric had heard some speculation about whether they were together by the end of his first year but the only way it affected the way anyone interacted with them was the general consensus that if you invited one to do something, you had to invite the other as well.

Honestly, Eric wasn’t really sure if they were together until he saw the attic makeover. Even then he couldn’t help the little voice that said, “Maybe they’re just bros who like to share a bed.” A slightly louder voice said, “Go with what seems most likely.” The loudest voice, the one he listened to most, said, “If it doesn’t hurt team chemistry, it’s none of your business.”

“Are Ollie and Wicks here?” Eric asked, starting to pull out the ingredients for mini pies.

“Not ‘til Sunday,” Dex said, coming into the kitchen with Nursey trailing behind. “I saw them a couple of weeks ago when they came to do the room. I came down to give them a hand with the beds and I helped install that chandelier. We can’t afford to have both of them out if that thing falls on them.”

Eric paused. A serious injury would seriously affect their chances this season. Let alone simultaneous injuries to two players.

“I know you did a good job,” Eric finally said.

“Of course he did,” Nursey said. “Have you met Dex? He’s like our own Bob the Builder.”

Eric glanced at Dex and changed the subject.

“Can y’all help me put these welcome packages together?” Eric said. “Nursey, I’ll text you a list of what goes in each one. Can you go in the dining room and fill the bags according to the list? Chowder, sweetheart, can you mix up some chocolate chip cookies while Dex and I make the mini pies?”

They worked for the next hour or so, shuttling trays of cookies in and out of the oven before the mini pies went in, moving Nursey to dishwashing duty when he came back and said the bags were ready to go as soon as the pies and cookies were ready. The activity helped pull Eric out of the shallow funk he’d fallen into when Jack went home. So did Chowder’s stream of chatter about his summer -- he’d been invited to the Schooners training camp, and it wasn’t the Sharks, but it was great, and the guys were great, but it was so much work, and he didn’t get to see Cait at all while he was there -- and Dex’s quiet presence, which acted as a kind of calming counterbalance.

Once everything was cooling on racks on the counter, Eric said, “I’m glad you guys are are here, because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re okay, aren’t you, Bitty?” Chowder asked.

“Of course I am,” Eric said. “This is good news. I’m dating someone.”

He glanced at Dex.

“More than that, really,” he said. “I have a boyfriend.”

Dex grinned at him.

“Good for you,” he said. “Anyone we know?”

“Well, he plays hockey, so I’m sure you know of him,” Eric said.

“Plays for who?” Nursey said. “Not someone on our team?” “No, of course not,” Eric said. “He does want to come skate tomorrow. I still have to ask Ford if we can get ice time, but all of you are invited.”

“If you think he can keep up,” Nursey said.

“Of course he can keep up,” Eric said. “It’s Jack Zimmermann!”

“Wait,” Chowder said. “Does that mean you’ve met Snow?”

Eric smiled, and sighed. Of course that was what Chowder wanted to know. “Yes, actually, I have. Lord, I don’t know what I was worried about.”

“You were worried about telling us?” Nursey asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I just feel like people are going to think there’s something strange about Jack Zimmermann wanting to go out with me.” “Dude, you always call him ‘Jack Zimmermann’?” Nursey asked.

“Of course not,” Eric said. “I call him Jack.”

“And is there anything weird about Jack going out with you?” Nursey asked.

“Not when I think of it like that,” Eric said.

“See?” Dex said. “Dude’s lucky to be dating you.”

“Thanks,” Eric said. “And I know you wouldn’t, but you can’t tell anyone. I’m telling you guys and Ollie and Wicks, and Ford and the coaches.”

“Do your parents know?” Dex asked.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “He came down to be with me when I came out to them. I wasn’t going to say anything besides that we were friends, but he went ahead and told them.”

“Dude probably figured he already blew his cover,” Nursey said.

“How were your parents?” Chowder said. “I know you were worried.”

“Not great,” Eric said. “But they didn’t disown me, and they won’t out Jack. I don’t know -- I think they’re still coming for family weekend.”

Doesn’t matter,” Dex said. “We got your back. You know that right?”

**60**

The next evening, Jack and Eric sat on the porch after skating with the frogs.

“Sure you don’t want to come back with me?” Jack asked. “You don’t need to be here for anything early tomorrow morning, do you?”

Eric sat on the rough wood floor and pointed his toes, stretching his legs as he bent forward.

“Not really,” he said. “But I feel bad leaving when I just got here. I’m supposed to be setting an example.”

“You sure set an example on the ice,” Jack said.

Eric grinned.

Just in case he wasn’t sure how much good Jack’s checking clinics had done, he had the chance to try them out with Nursey and Dex. They’d mostly just goofed around, but for a little while they’d had a loose sort of scrimmage, with Jack and Eric trying to get past Nursey and Dex and score on Chowder.

The first time he’d leaned into Dex, stealing the puck back before Dex could clear it, Dex let out a whoop. “You see that, Nurse? He really put a body on me!”

“O captain, my captain!” Nurse said.

From that point on, neither of them tried so hard to avoid contact with Eric. It still wasn’t like a game – no one was actually hitting, just pushing and leaning and trying to get the leverage they needed. But after three years, Eric finally felt like a part of the team in a new way.

And with his newfound ability to get the puck back, and a professional as a partner, they’d definitely had the best of the two-on-two. Jack had scored first on Chowder, although not until Chowder got several stops, and then Eric had scored before he announced the game was over.

The fact was, Chowder was better too. He was bigger and stronger and faster than he had been when summer started.

“I think it’s going to be a good season,” Eric finally said. “If we can get these new boys incorporated quickly enough.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Jack said. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of pie.”

“Of course,” Eric said. “And maybe some psychologically twisted hazing. Lardo and Ford will help.”

“I’m sure,” Jack said.

“Anyway, I can’t leave now because Lardo said she was going to come out,” Eric said. “She had something she wanted to talk about.”

“I don’t mind sitting here a while longer,” Jack said. “I can bring my bag in later.”

“You’re staying here?” Eric said. “Little lumpy bed and all?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Jack said. “To me, it’s worth it.”

The street was mostly quiet, and the noise from the frogs doing the supper dishes had already died down when Eric heard Lardo’s old Honda coming down the street. Shitty was following her, driving a newer Prius.

Eric went in to fetch the pie he’d saved and some plates. When he came out, Shitty was just letting go of Jack after a hug that left his boyfriend looking confused, but not offended.

“Shitty, you’re a pleasant surprise,” Eric said. “I thought it was just Lardo coming. What’s up?”

Eric looked from one to the other. Lardo was holding her face expressionless, but Shitty couldn’t help a grin that was playing at the edges of his mouth.

“What?” Eric said. “You’re starting to worry me. Y’all didn’t run off and get married, did you?”

“Bits, I know I explained how marriage is a tool of the patriarchy,” Shitty said.

“You did, but you also acknowledged that it’s the easiest way for two people to make a public and legal commitment to one another,” Eric said.

“Well, yes,” Shitty said. “As long as both parties see it that way. But that’s not it. I’m just here to give Lardo a ride back.”

“But Lardo – you have your car. Everything okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Lardo said. “Just had it tuned up and the oil changed. Brakes and tires a good for a while yet. But I’m thinking I’m going to leave it here. You’re gonna need a car, if you’re commuting to Providence once a week. I can’t afford to keep a car in New York. Seemed like a good solution.”

“But Lardo, I can’t afford to pay you –”

“You don’t have to pay me for it, Bitty,” Lardo said. “It’s yours, a gift freely given. If you need help with the insurance and all, well, I’m sure someone would be happy to pitch in.”

She looked at Jack.

Eric followed her gaze and said, “Did you put her up to this?”

“No,” Jack said. “Although I think it’s a great idea, and I’m very grateful. Thank you, Lardo.”

He looked meaningfully at Eric.

“Yes, of course, thank you, Lardo,” Eric said. “But why not leave it with Shitty? And where did that Prius come from?”

“Brah, like I was going to miss the chance to get my father to buy me a little hybrid? He can afford it,” Shitty said. “And I talked to him for hours about climate change.”

“I bet you did,” Eric said.

“So will you give the Beast a good home?” Lardo said, pulling an envelope from her messenger bag. “The title is in here – I’ll sign it over, and you can take it and get it registered. And here’s the keys, and the extra set.”

Eric took both sets and held them up.

“You always had two sets?” he said.

“Of course,” Lardo said.

“Where did you keep the extras?”

“In my desk drawer,” Lardo said.

“So when I locked the keys in the car, all I had to do was ask someone to bring me the extra set? Like, I could have called you and you would have told me?”

“Of course,” Lardo said.

“But then I would have never met you,” Jack said. “I only stopped running because you were crying.”

“I was not!” Eric said. “Well, maybe a little. But I think things worked out anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Come say on[Tumblr!](http://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com)_


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